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THE  VOICE  OF  THE 
INFINITE 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 


BY 
N.  D.  ANDERSON 


BOSTON 
SHERMAN,  FRENCH  &  COMPANY 

1911 


Copyright,  1911 
Sherman,  French  <$*  Company 


••••••    ! 

•  •■•::  : 


c      • 

v  :  :• :  • 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  VOICE  OF  THE   INFINITE 1 

ROSES  OF  THE  DEW 2 

REDIVIVUS 3 

DEATH  OF  PHARAOH'S  ARMY 4 

PERDITA 5 

THE   THIN  BLUE   LINE 6 

WHO   COMPLAINETH   NOT 9 

THE  HEART  OF  A  TREE 10 

BE    FREE 11 

THE    BOASTFUL   MARINERS 13 

THE  ROCK 16 

IN   THE   WEST 17 

THE  FALL  OF  KHARTOUM 18 

OMNIA  VINCET  AMOR 20 

NAPOLEON'S  GREETING  TO  ST.   HELENA    .  22 
UNDERNEATH  THEM  ARE  THE  EVERLAST- 
ING    ARMS 23 

O,    BUTTERFLY 25 

SUPPLICATION 26 

BIRTH  OF  MAN .27 

BLACK  BERTRAND  AND  FAIR  EUNICE   .     .  28 
BETWIXT   THE   NIGHT   AND   DAY    ....  32 

LUCY  LINGERS  AT  THE  GATE 36 

EPITAPH  TO   A  SOLDIER 37 

"SERMONS   IN  STONES'* 38 

THE  LETTER  FROM  HOME 40 

THE    SUBMERGED 41 

THE  SHADOW  CAST  BEFORE 42 

COMPENSATION         43 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE    RED    ARTIST 44 

THE   PORTRAIT 47 

THE  THREE  SPIRITS   .........  48 

THE     PRAIRIE 49 

DAUGHTER  OF  JUDAH 50 

THE    TAJ    MAHAL 51 

THE  SEA-DOG  OF  THE  FARALLONES  ...  54 
WHITHER  THE  OLD   FRIENDS     .     .     .     .     .55 

THE    ROSE    MYSTERIOUS 56 

FAITH 61 

THE   WOUND 62 

HARP   O'   THE  WIND 63 

KING    CODRUS 64 

FAME .     .   66 

LOVE'S     SERENADE 67 

HYMN  TO  THE  SOIL 69 

LIFE  IS  BORN  OF  DEATH 70 

TO    DAME    NATURE 71 

THE   FOUR  ANGELS 72 

THE   GAME  OF   LIFE 74 

THE  TRIUMPH  OF  MICHAEL 78 

THE  FISH  OF  PARADISE 79 

HOMO        . 81 

THE   CORN 85 

HOME  SONGS 86 

VALHILDA        87 

THE  CROOKED   LITTLE   BOY 89 

THE    FOREST    FIRE 90 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

FREE    WILL 92 

THE    TORCH-BEARERS .93 

SEEKERS   OF    HAPPINESS 94 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  INFINITE  :   ,  I 

Out  of  the  Infinite  comes  a  Voice 
Bidding  my  suffering  heart  rej  oice ; 
This  is  the  message  it  brings  to  me: 
"I  chasten  those  that  are  dear  to  Me." 

Out  of  the  Infinite  comes  a  Voice 
Bidding  my  downcast  heart  rejoice, 
Promising  rest  in  the  sunshine  and  song 
Beyond  the  black  forest's  shadow  and  wrong. 

Out  of  the  Infinite  comes  a  Voice 

Bidding  my  weeping  heart  rejoice 

Over  the  thought  that  our  fleeting  tears 

Cleanse  the  soul  pure  for  the  endless  years. 

Out  of  the  Infinite  comes  a  Voice 
Bidding  my  groping  heart  rejoice, 
Telling  me  that  which  we  none  understand 
Is  the  simple  law  of  the  Other  Land. 

Out  of  the  Infinite  comes  a  Voice 
Bidding   my   fainting   heart   rejoice 
Over  the  Love  that  guards  our  days, 
Asking  but  faith  for  a  little  space. 

Out  of  the  Infinite  comes  a  Voice 
Bidding  my  doubting  heart  rejoice; 
This  is  the  message  it  brings  to  me: 
"I  chasten  those  who  are  dear  to  Me." 

[i] 


ROSES 'OF"  THE  DEW 

The  delicate  veins  in  the  bloom  of  you, 

Little  red  rose  of  the  morning! 
Herald  the  evening  doom  of  you, 

Carry  a  message  of  warning: 
Petals  of  velvet  glisten  and  glow, 
Decked  in  dewdrops  of  crystal  and  snow; 
Petals   of  velvet  wither  and  die, 
When  the  hot  winds  run  scornfully  by. 

The  horrible  scales  on  the  back  of  you, 

Glistening  snake  in  the  grasses ! 
Tell  of  the  slippery  knack  of  you, 

Coaxing  of  heedless  lasses: 
Glitter  and  tinsel  their  souls  beguile, 
Clammy  and  cold  your  touch  the  while; 
Beautiful  colors  of  precious  stones 
Dazzle  their  eyes  as  you  crush  their  bones. 

The  roses,  red  roses,  are  falling,  are  falling, 

Petal  by  petal  so  gently, 
Covering  the  serpent,  in  silence  appalling, 

Coiled  to  spring  forth,  intently — 
Little  white  hands  to  gather  them  in; 
Swift  sharp  fangs  like  the  stroke  of  sin: 
Weep  for  the  maidens,  tender  and  true, 
Who  seek  'mongst  its  petals  the  rose  of  the  dew. 


[*], 


REDIVIVUS 

Poor    heart!     Its    bright    plumes    gone,    and 

clothed  in  rags, 
It  stumbles  wearily  through  the  forest  black — 
Black  with  the  night,  and  black  with  charred 

remains 
Of  devastating  fires — whose  shadows  hide 
The   ravening   wolves,    and    terrors    more   un- 
known ; 
Whose  sentinels  are  fallen  in  the  way, 
And  on  whose  throne,  usurping,  sits  the  King 
Of  Desolation. 

Poor  heart!     That  thus  alone 
And  twice  unguarded  comes,  what  seeks  it  here, 
Choosing  its  painful  path  with  trembling  feet? 
Escape  from  Hate,  or  penitence  from  Sin? 
Lost  Love,  or  Death,  or  rehabiliment  ? 
Have  pity  then,  ye  clouds  that  hide  the  stars, 
The  guiding  stars  of  hope;  ye  jostling  winds, 
Deal  kindlier  with  the  waif ;  O  wilderness ! 
Stretch   forth   thy   might,    and   all   this   poor 

heart's  foes 
Engulf  and  overwhelm! 

Then  shall  the  Dawn 
With  golden  mantle  wrap  it  tenderly, 
And  on  the  Morning's  chariot  bear  it  far, 
The  rosy  clouds  of  bliss  surrounding  them. 
So  back  to  its  frail  mortal  house  it  comes, 
Bringing  new   cheer,   and  fresher  hopefulness, 
Sunshine  and  song. 

[*] 


DEATH  OF  PHARAOH'S  ARMY 

Down  !     Down !     Down ! 

To  the  sands  at  the  end  of  the  sea, 

The  East  Winds  blow  from  the  Voice  of  God, 

And  the  waters  before  them  flee. 

O  walls  that  are  built  of  stone 
May  save  from  the  wrath  of  the  storm, 
But  a  bulwark  of  waves  is  the  Voice  of  God, 
And  it  shields  but  the  just  from  harm. 

O  souls  of  the  darkened  land, 

Ye  fight  with  valor  of  men, 

But  the  Children  of  Light  have  the  Voice  of 

God, 
Whose  power  is  beyond  your  ken. 

Down !     Down !     Down ! 

To  the  graves  at  the  end  of  the  sea; 

The  cause  of  your  fate  was  the  Voice  of  God, 

That  never  shall  cease  to  be. 


[4] 


PERDITA 

Flower  of  my  soul!     Growest  thou  here? 
Open  thy  petals  when  I  kiss  thee. 
The  long  knives  of  the  wind  dost  thou  not  fear  ? 
The  roses  in  Paradise  miss  thee. 

Spirit  of  the  sea- foam!     Seest  thou  not 

The  face  of  the  hurricane  darken  at  sight  of 

thee? 
To  kiss  thee  the  sun  hath  his  duty  forgot — 
But  terrors  are  black  to  the  left  and  the  right 

of  thee. 

Soul  of  the  lark's  song!     Dost  thou  not  know 
The   dread   eagle   circles    smaller   and   smaller 

above  thee? 
Alone  art  thou  midst  the  sounds  of  woe ; 
Only  a  heart  frail  that  doth  love  thee. 

Yet  dost  thou  smile  up  into  mine  eyes, 
Seest  thou  there  the  love  to  protect  thee? 
Jewels  are  not  all  for  the  skies, 
The  splendors  of  all  of  them — for  me — perfect 
thee! 


[5] 


THE  THIN  BLUE  LINE 

The  thin,  blue  line  that  falters  not, 
Though  wavering  like  a  fluttering  veil 
Beneath  the  sun  so  burning  hot, 
Shall  it  forget,  that  ne'er  forgot, 
The  flag  whose  stars  can  never  pale 
Out  of  that  sky  whose  bend  of  blue 
Is  one  triumphant  arch  and  grand 
Where  marches  under  warriors,  who, 
Returning  from  the  thin,  blue  line, 
Bring  honors  for  their  native  land, 
And  trophies  for  her  Freedom's  shrine. 

The  thin,  blue  line  that  fights  for  right, 
That  never  bends  the  knee  to  might, 
Has  ever  since  it  knew  God's  light 
Fought  dark  Oppression  in  his  lair, 
And  routed  Wrong  from  valleys  fair, 
Sweet  Peace  and  Plenty  leaving  there. 

O  God!     The  thin,  blue  line  is  Thine; 
The  man  behind  the  gun  is  Thine; 
They've  left  their  labors  and  their  kine : 
The  old,  bowed  man,  the  youth,  the  boy, 
Have  left  the  implement  and  toy: 
Because  their  Father  called  them  then — 
O  God,  the  thin,  blue  line  of  fighting  men ! 


[6] 


The  thin,  blue  line  that  falters  not, 
Though  wavering  like  the  wind-tossed  cloud, 
Beneath  the  death-cold  sun  forgot, 
Cries   forth  its   battle-slogan   proud, 
Nor  shivers  fearful  of  its  lot. 

Let  not  Ambition  on  thy  dead 
Rear  palaces  of  pride  to  man; 
Let  not  thy  blood,  for  Freedom  shed, 
Enslave  the  darker-minded  clan ; 
Shall  Nations  laud  to  Heaven  high 
The  man  who  used  thee  for  their  death? 
Shall  all  thy  warriors  turn  and  die 
At  Greed's   mere  beck,  or  Emperor's  breath? 
No,  never  shall  of  thee  be  said: 
"The  thin,  blue  line  is  hired  to  slay." 
The  flag  that  waves  above  thy  head 
Has  never  yet  been  borne  astray ; 
The  honored  tomb  is  wide  for  thee — 
'Tis  better  thou  shouldst  die  than  a  foul  traitor 
be! 

The  thin,  blue  line  that  falters  not — 
God's  vengeance  on  thy  Captains  be! 
Have  they  their  fathers'  wrongs  forgot, 
To  hunt  their  brothers'  liberty? 
All  men  are  equal  born,  those  held; 
Shall  these,  the  lesser,  then  in  vain 
Hold  all  their  fathers  made  so  plain, 
And  seek  the  slaver's  chains  to  weld? 

m 


God's  vengeance  on  thy  Captains  be, 
If  they  hold  not  their  murd'rous  hands! 
The  wilder  race  loves  liberty, 
Leave  then  to  them  their  native  lands. 
Give  back,  give  back,  shall  be  the  cry 
A  million  mothers'  grief-wrung  hearts 
Shall  ask  of  ye  when  none  knows  why 
The  thin,  blue  line  the  heathen  starts 
And  forces  it  to  give  or  die. 
For  know  defeat  is  for  the  wrong, 
Though  they  who  fight  may  never  know, 
But  go  with  laughter  and  with  song 
Because  their  Captains  tell  them  so. 


[8] 


WHO  COMPLAINETH  NOT 

Thou  sayest  naught  is  left  to  do, 
That  someone  else  hath  done  all — 

Shall  stars  no  more  their  lamps  renew 
For  that  the  sun  begun  all? 

Thou  sayest  themes  are  worn  threadbare, 

And  ended  all  invention — 
For  that  the  good  's  already  there 

Shall  cease  the  good  intention? 

Thou  sayest  underneath  the  sun 
Is  nothing  new  to  greet  him — 

What  of  the  young  life  just  begun 
Whose  new  soul  turns  to  meet  him? 

Thou  sayest,  at  deep  study's  end, 
Some  old  Egyptian  knew  this — 

And  who  art  thou  who  thinkest,  friend, 
That  only  thou  couldst  do  this? 

Thou  sayest :  Lord,  Thy  will  survive 
On  earth  as  in  Thy  Heaven — 

Then  hast  thou  known  the  joy  to  strive 
Is  life's  most  blessed  leaven. 


[9] 


THE  HEART  OF  A  TREE 

A  green  and  tender  sapling  in  the  sun 

Grew   sheltered   from  the   North-wind's   biting 

blast ; 
Petted  and  coddled  by  that  gentle  one, 
It  dreamed  of  shooting  upward  a  tall  mast, 
Overtopping  all  that  stalk  the  oceans  vast  : 
And  so  its  heart  grew  hard  with  thought  of 

pelf; 
The  days  grew  into  years,  and  as  they  passed 
They  hardened  with  narrowing  rings  its  soul 

of  self. 
Yea,   gnarled   and   aged,   in   the   o'erwhelming 

gloom 
Of  the  great,  trackless  wood,  it  waits  the  end, 
Self-centered  to  the  last,  still  dreaming  fame: 
The  keen  ax  of  the  woodsman  knells  its  doom — 
When  lo !  Its  pride  laid  bare  beyond  amend, 
It  first  does  good  in  sacrificial  flame. 


[10] 


BE  FREE 

Strike  off  the  shackles !     Let  thy  Soul 

Unfettered  roam 
Where  Love's  illumined  fields  unroll 

Round  Heaven's  dome. 

Bind  not  Her  eyes   with  earthly  veil; 

Nor  make  Her  reel 
With  world-red,  furious  wine's  wassail, 

To  which  men  kneel. 

Where  blooms  the  blood-hued  rose  of  Morn 

Near  Heaven's  gates, 
The  paths  by  Angels'  feet  are  worn, 

And  Beauty  waits. 

Here,  dark  the  mist  hangs  bleak  and  cold 

O'er  dungeons  deep — 
Where  doth  Thy  tenement  grow  old 

Within  its  keep. 

Burst  then  Thy  bonds,  wrench  out  the  bars, 

There  waiteth  Thee 
A  palace  in  the  land  of  stars — 

My  Soul,  be  free ! 


[ii] 


THE  BOASTFUL  MARINERS 

A  good  ship  sailed  on  a  summer  sea, 
She  sailed  with  her  sails  all  spread, 
For  the  waves  were  calm  o'er  the  ocean  free ; 
For  the  winds  in  the  heavens  were  dead. 

And  the  sailors  they  sang  in  a  voice  of  glee, 

In  a  voice  of  glee  sang  they: 
"What  life  hath  compare 
To  the  seaman's  rare, 
From  the  cares  of  the  world  he  is  free! 

On  the  breast  of  the  wave 

There  are  dangers  to  brave, 
But  there  are  none  -there  to  say  him  nay !" 

Now  the  sun  grew  small  and  his  beams  grew 

fierce 
Till  they  twisted  the  white  deck  fair, 
But  never  did  breath  the  dull  air  pierce, 
The  sun  waned  red  and  bare. 

What  ho!     There  watchman!     O  man  at  the 

wheel ! 
And  sleepest  thou  at  thy  post? 
And  feelest  thou  not  thy  good  ship  reel, 
O  thou  with  thy  wanton  boast! 


[12] 


In  their  cups  last  night  thy  comrades  sang, 

They  sang  in  a  voice  of  glee : 
"0  what  life  so  brave 
As  the  life  of  the  wave! 
We  never  shall  know  but  a  pearl-lined  grave; 

From  cares  we  are  free, 

No  land  lubbers  we, 
From  the  foam  of  the  billow  we  sprang!" 

The  man  at  the  wheel  now  rubbed  his  eyes, 
With  his  knuckles  hard  rubbed  he, 
But  league  after  league  as  the  black  crow  flies 
Was  never  a  wave  of  the  sea! 

r 
The    dry    sands    with    carcasses    white    were 

strewn ; 
And  ships  that  long  since  had  gone  down, 
Gleamed  in  the  new  sun  like  statues  hewn 
In  gold  marble  from  foot  to  crown. 

O  a  boastful  song  the  Captain  sang, 

And  the  sailors  in  their  glee: 

"At  the  fetters  of  earth 

We  laugh  in  our  mirth, 

From  the  skulls  in  the  ground  they  sprang; 
O'er  the  billows  we  go, 
Through  their  crests  of  snow, 

From  the  cares  of  the  world  we  are  free! 


[13] 


Even  as  they  sang  the  voice  of  their  God 
Spake  forth  to  the  waves  of  the  sea: 
For  even  a  wave  is  an  earthen  clod, 
So  willeth  the  Lord  to  be. 

Full  three-score  days  the  good  ship  lay 
On  her  side  in  the  waterless  sea, 
And  never  a  breeze  there  came  that  way, 
And  never  a  night  might  be! 

A  sorrowful  song  the  Captain  sang, 

With  his  sailors  he  sang  in  sorrow: 
"O  Lord,  we  are  naught, 
From  the  dust  we  are  wrought, 
From  the  seed  of  the  serpent  we  sprang; 
O  God!     We  pray 
Forgive  us  this  day, 
Give  us  water  to  sail  on  the  morrow !" 

O  watchman,  ho!     O  man  at  the  wheel! 
And  sleepest  thou  at  thy  post? 
And  feelest  thou  not  thy  good  ship  reel? 
O  thou  with  thy  wanton  boast! 

Their  God  in  His  pity  the  sailors  saw, 
And  He  gave  them  back  their  sea : 
O  both  in  the  desert  and  ocean  is  law, 
From  his  Maker  no  man  is  free ! 


[14] 


Now  a  song  of  praise  the  Captain  sang, 
With  his  sailors  sang  in  glee : 

"0  God  of  the  wave! 

Thou  art  mighty  to  save, 

And  man  to  his  vanity  is  always  slave; 
0  none  shall  be  free 
Except  in  Thee, 

Though  from  the  wild  waters  they  sprang!" 


[15] 


THE  ROCK 

O  I  am  the  rock,  the  self-same  rock, 

The  rock  with  the  self-same  heart, 
That  centuries  sat  on  the  heaven's  rim 
Afar  above  where  the  white  clouds  swim, 

Guarding  the  ways  of  the  wind-blown  flock 
From  the  wolves  and  the  butchers'  mart. 

The  blood  of  a  wounded  eagle  crept 

Into  my  fissured  soul  one  night, 
And  I  from  my  lofty  height  was  swept 
By  the  rending  frost  in  my  pride  of  might — 
But  I  yet  am  the  rock,  the  self-same  rock, 
That  stood  by  the  way  of  the  wayward  flock. 

O  I  am  the  rock,  the  self-same  rock, 
The  rock  with  the  self-same  heart: 
Though  men  have  hewn  me  a  corner-stone 
For  a  tower  that  upholds  a  Cross  alone, 

That  some  may  worship  and  some  may  mock, 
My  strength  is  unmarred  by  art. 


[16] 


IN  THE  WEST 

An  old  man  bending  in  the  West 
Above  a  censer,  heaven-blest, 
That  swings  by  slender,  golden  cords 
Across  the  cloud-sea's  ragged  fjords. 

A  black  ship  with  a  broken  mast 
Upon  a  black  rock  breaking  fast, 
The  censer  sinking  to  the  sea, 
The  old  man  dropping  on  his  knee. 

Beneath  great  caldrons  embers  red, 
And  billowing  clouds  of  smoke  o'erhead, 
The  old  man  fallen  on  his  face, 
Asleep  in  Twilight's  camping-place. 

Great  crimson  tents,  dark  avenues, 
And  vessels  emptied  of  their  crews, 
The  old  man  dreaming  of  the  feast, 
And  Youth's  awakening  in  the  East. 


[17] 


THE  FALL  OF  KHARTOUM 

Against  fearful  odds, 
And  the  call  of  their  gods, 

We  hurled  back  the  enemy. 
Unswerved  by  our  fears, 
Back  upon  their  spears, 

We  pushed  the  black  enemy. 

But  God,  it  was  fearful! 

Mad  weeping  and  tearful — 
And  the  shouts  of  the  enemy ! 

O'er  stiff  comrades  stumbling, 

And  to  ourselves  mumbling, 
And  the  shouts  of  the  enemy. 

The  whites  of  their  eyes 
They  rolled  to  the  skies ; 

So  close  was  the  enemy. 

They  hooted  and  leered, 
And  false  victims  speared; 

So  cruel  was  the  enemy. 

A  black  sea  appalling, 
Waves  rising  and  falling, 

The  heads  of  the  enemy. 

It  bursts  through  our  barriers, 
O'er  women  and  warriors, 
O'er  soldiers   and  carriers; 

Hear  the  shouts  of  the  enemy! 

[18] 


Against  fearful  odds, 
In  the  face  of  their  gods, 

We  fell  'fore  the  enemy. 

For  our  blood  we  were  priced 
To  the  Infidel  Christ-— 

The  Christ  of  the  enemy. 

Farewell!     I  am  seeing, 
Pursuing  the  fleeing, 

The  hordes  of  the  enemy. 
Soon,  the  dust  biting, 
I'll  cease  from  the  fighting — 

Pitted  by  the  enemy. 

Ye  who  live  after 

Cease  once  in  your  laughter, 
Avenge  us  on  the  enemy. 

Against  fearful  odds, 

And  the  call  of  their  gods, 
We  fell  'fore  the  enemy. 


[19] 


OMNIA  VINCET  AMOR 

Upon  the  jagged  cobblestones  he  lay — 
Youth  beautiful,  and  fair  as  dawning  day: 
His  cheeks  with  pallid  roses  o'er  were  strewn; 
His  lips  were  set  as  if  by  sculptor  hewn ; 
Pain's    slumber    deep    had    drawn   his    eyelids 

down; 
All  matted  clung  his  locks  of  golden  brown — 
Thus  was  he  found  beneath  the  wing  of  Death, 
Who,    ere   that   Pity    sighed,   had   sucked   his 

breath. 
But  as  the  people  wept  and  cried  aloud, 
A  Form  in  White  moved  through  the  surging 

crowd ; 
Who  came  and  knelt  down  at  the  fair  youth's 

side, 
And  queried  them  how  came  it  that  he  died. 

Then  one  spake  up  and  said  'twas  Error  gay 
Had  slain  the  youth  while  teaching  him  to  slay. 
"Now  Death  shall  loose  his  bonds  if  I  but  find 
One  seed  of  Love  within  his  soul  enshrined, 
For  from  this  seed — see  to  it  that  ye  sow — 
Doth  spring  repentance,  doth  obedience  grow. 
Which  form  the  Tree  of  Life  for  man  below." 
As  thus  He  spake,  before  their  wondering 

eyes 


[20] 


He  bade  the  youth  before  them  all  arise — 
But  ere  the  boy,  bewildered,  stood  as  fair 
As  ever  time  before  had  seen  him  there, 
The  multitude  forgot  the  One  in  White, 
Nor  knew  they  when  He  vanished  from  their 
sight. 


[21] 


NAPOLEON'S  GREETING  TO 
ST.  HELENA 

Thy  cold,  black  rocks  are  rooted  in  the  sea ; 
Thou  art  a  prisoner  from  the  world  afar; 
Exiled  upon  this  liquid  treachery ; 
Held  by  the  raging  tempest's  bolt  and  bar. 

Bound  by  the  chains  of  distance,  thou  dost  lie 
Far  from  the  malice  of  the  wily  world ; 
Ear  from  the  vaunting  step,  the  velvet  eye — 
Thou  art  from  envy's  blast  securely  furled. 

Strength    hath    thy    loneliness,     thy     deserts 

power — 
Thou  scar  upon  the  fawning  ocean  fair ; 
Within  thy  naked  heart  no  love  may  flower 
To  grace  thy  scornful  bosom,  bold  and  bare. 

The  white  throats  of  the  sea  may  mock  thy 

woe — 
White  throats  have  mocked  at  misery  before — 
Yet  though  they  would  not  they  must  have  it 

so: 
Aye,  all  of  them  shall  break  upon  thy  shore. 


[82] 


UNDERNEATH  THEM  ARE   THE 
EVERLASTING  ARMS 

Ye  Mountains  grand !     That  guard  the  fertile 

plains. 
O  ye  that  peer  through  mighty  Heaven's  veil! 
Thou  on  whose  head  are  wisdom's  snow-white 

hairs ! 
And  thou  yet  young  and  wild;  with  fiery  eye; 
Untamed   and   fitful!     What   answer  hear   ye, 

when 
In  pride  of  strength  ye  ask  the  mole-hill  low: 
"What  holds  ye  up,  when  from  our  sides  the 

flood 
That  wet   our  skirts  sweeps   down  upon  ye?" 

Hark! 
"Underneath  us  are  the  Everlasting  Arms." 

O  mighty  Sea!     Thou  hast  imprisoned  Earth, 
And  shackled  all  her  host,  O  mighty  Sea! 
Thou  knowest  all  her  secrets ;  at  thy  tread 
Her  nations  tremble  and  grow  faint  with  fear: 
Thou    reachest   up    to    Heaven,    and   down   to 

Hell; 
Thou     traversest    every    path.     What,    when 

thy  pride 
Unto  the  lowly  lake  within  the  wood 


[23] 


Shall  say:  "What  power  sustaineth  thee,  thou 

weak 
And  timid  one?"     Shall  not  the  sea-gull  come, 
Who  feareth  not  thy  wrath,  and  say  to  thee: 
"Underneath  her  are  the  Everlasting  Arms." 

And  thou,  great  Sun!  Thou  soul  of  fair- 
haired  Day! 

Thou  Messenger  of  Time  Eternity 

Sends  forth  each  morn  from  Night's  black  cav- 
erns deep; 

Thou  who  wast  given  and  now  givest  life ; 

Remember,  when  the  flickering  star  goes   out 

Before  thy  fire,  and  at  thy  breath  the  moon 

Grows  pale,  the  Voice  thou  heardest  in  the 
night : 

"Underneath  them  are  the  Everlasting  Arms." 

O    Mountains,    Sea,    and    Sun!     Ye    statured 

Kings ! 
A  breath  hath  made  ye  and  a  breath  destroys. 
Ye  are  but  suckling  babes!     Ye  are  but  dust! 
As  frail  as  any  painted  butterfly. 
And  those  ye  do  deride  are  told  of  ye: 
"Underneath  them  are  the  Everlasting  Arms." 


[24] 


O  BUTTERFLY 

(From  the  Danish) 

O  butterfly!  As  light  of  heart  thou  flittest 
From  bush  to  bower,  from  leaf  to  flower  bright, 
Beware  ere  thou  take  wing  from  where  thou 

sittest, 
For  flight   against   the  light   may  bring  thee 

night. 

Pride  thee  not  on  those  glimmering  hues  that 

speak 
The  beauty   that  inspires   thy   summer  mirth, 
Thine  outer  dust,  so  tender,  frail,  and  weak, 
Unseen  the  larvae  hath  of  equal  worth. 

O  careful  use  thy  spring  and  summer  brief, 
Ere   the  white  snows   the  withered  fields   o'er- 

crust, 
Ere  thou  shalt  breathe  age  with  each  yellowing 

leaf, 
And  lightly  fade  into  a  mouldering  dust. 


[25] 


SUPPLICATION 

All.  of  the  lengthening  days,  O  God! 
I  have  seen  the  Deep 

Breathe  as  a  child,  and  all  the  world  wild 
Sobbing  itself  to  sleep. 

Thou  that  swingest  the  mighty  Sun 
Like  a  censer  burning, 
When  Thy  labors  vast  are  done, 
Laborers  all  returning, 
Worshipping  the  loved,  loved  One, 
Terrible  and  yearning — 

All  of  the  wonderful  years,  O  God! 
I  have  dreamed  of  Thee, 
Asleep  in  the  night,  awake  in  the  light, 
Toiling  mournfully. 

Send  not  Thy  reapers  yet  awhile, 

Leave  us  pick  the  flowers ; 

Ere  the  sickle's  Judas  smile, 

Laughter  fill  the  hours ; 

Thus  we  pray  Thee  in  our  guile, 

Mindful  of  Thy  powers. 


[26] 


BIRTH  OF  MAN 

The  earth  was  once  a  garden  spot 
Where  angels  paused  to  rest 
On  journeys  through  the  vast; 
Sweet  flowers  grew ;  but  man  was  not. 

There  is  the  burden  of  yon  tree 
Lowlaid  within  the  glen 
Beyond  the  haunts  of  men; 
No  life  but  fungi  mayst  eye  see. 

Thou  art  the  child  of  light,  I  wot. 
And  yet  perhaps   earth's  night 
Hath  brought  thy  soul  to  light 
When  earth  herself  began  to  rot. 


[27] 


BLACK  BERTRAND  AND  FAIR  EUNICE 

Where  yonder  monarch  of  the  wood 
Stands  guard  alone,  and  lorn, 
Ere  torch  and  blade  his  subjects  laid, 
I  at  his  side  was  born. 

First  saw  the  light  that  breaks  the  night 
Within  a  hovel  rude, 

Though  from  right  royal  loins  I  sprang, 
And  came  of  gentle  blood. 

The  self-same  moment  Heaven  drew 
My  horoscope  on  high, 
Another  soul  to  earthward  flew — 
Followed  by  hue  and  cry. 

Followed  by  hue  and  cry  was  she, 

The  weak  and  erring  mother, 

O  God  have  pity  on  the  weak — 

Men  are  most  hard  who  are  most  meek — 

Self-virtue  knows  no  brother. 

Strangely  spun  the  wheel  of  Fate, 
The  sinister  became  my  mate; 
Long  since  the  monarch  fell; 
And  hand  in  hand  we  go,  and  stand, 
One  of  Heaven,  and  one  of  Hell. 


[28] 


Interpreter  of  Heaven's  thoughts, 
High  hope  shone  in  my  face; 
In  that  far  realm  the  stars  o'erwhelm 
I  chose  my  biding  place. 

Foul  demons  of  the  swinish  gods 
Danced  in  my  brutish  soul; 
Imagination  in  me  dead — 
Save  pictures  lewd  and  wassail  red — 
Had  I  but  known  my  dole! 

To  fish  the  water  of  the  sea, 

To  birds  the  limpid  air, 

To  beasts  the  earth,  to  man  his  birth, 

And  God  be  everywhere. 

Fair  Eunice  walked  beside  the  river, 
A  maiden  pure  if  maid  was  ever, 
A  queen  unconscious  of  her  crown, 
She  ruled  through  innocence'  renown. 

She  came  at  morn,  she  came  at  even, 

As  comes  and  goes  the  light  of  heaven, 

And  O,  to  me 

The  world  loomed  dark,  and  live  things  stark, 

If  her  I  failed  to  see. 

My  breast  a  Titan  courage  grew 
To  wrest  some  power  unknown 
From  out  the  high  Olympian  blue 
To  make  her  all  my  own! 
[29] 


Yet  she  to  me  a  being  was 

As  sacred  as  high  God; 

Around  her  form  I  threw  no  storm, 

I  worshipped  where  she  trod! 

The  million-throated  forest  sang 
Her  loveliness  at  dawn; 
That  loveliness  remained  to  bless 
When  light  of  day  was  gone. 

Fair  Eunice  thus  beside  the  river, 
And  I,  betimes,  my  heart  a-quiver, 
Walked  peacefully  along  its  brink — 
And  never  evil  did  I  think. 

How  is  it  now?     I  seem  to  gloat 
As  basilisk,  or  devil, 
Upon  her  palpitating  throat, 
My  soul  grown  black  with  evil! 

Fair  Eunice  now  beside  the  river 
Shall  walk  no  more  as  wont,  forever! 
Love  brought  her  to  high  Heaven's  gate, 
Lust  slew  her  where  the  angels  wait. 

Reel  forth  into  the  dawn  again 
From  out  the  wicked  night ; 
The  wine-fumes  go,  the  dregs  remain, 
So  of  the  wrong  and  right. 

[30] 


To  fish  the  water  of  the  sea, 

To  birds  the  limpid  air, 

To  beasts  the  earth,  to  man  his  birth. 

And  God  be  everywhere. 


[81] 


BETWIXT  THE  NIGHT  AND  DAY 

(A  Sestina) 

I 

O,  in  that  dim  and  mystic  land  'twixt  night  and 
day 

Frail  memory  brings  to  age  the  hours  of  robust 
youth, 

And  for  the  loveless  builds  fond  booths  of  ten- 
der flowers ; 

Here  fancy  to  the  orphaned  gives  a  mother's 
kiss, 

And  to  the  friendless  brings  the  joy  of  friend- 
ship's love — 

O  dim,  mysterious  country  of  the  dawn  and 
song! 

II 

The  lark  has  filled  its  arching  sky  with  rap- 
turous song 

That  heralds  the  approach  of  some  vague, 
wondrous  day, 

A  day  whose  dawning  comes  with  smiles  of 
those  we  love; 

The  new  sun  fills  its  bounds  with  laughing, 
golden  youth; 

The  cheeks  of  night  blush  red  with  morning's 
ardent  kiss, 

And  all  that  dim  and  misty  land  is  wreathed 
in  flowers! 

[32] 


Ill 

'Tis  here  the  tearless  weep  above  remembrance 
flowers, 

The  cold  ear  quickens  to  the  heart's  forgotten 
song, 

The  dumb  lips  murmuring  speak  and  leave  a 
lingering  kiss. 

Where  sleep's  voluptuous  form  stands  beckon- 
ing to  the  day, 

The  day  with  burden  bowed,  the  day  of  pleas- 
ure's youth, 

Like  bird  in  twilight's  glow  is  poised  the  soul  in 
love — 

IV 

Not  caring  for  the  storm  if  in  enveloping  love 

It  basks  among  its  dreams  in  gardens  filled  of 
flowers ! 

The  hopeless  drink  again  from  fountains  of 
their  youth, 

Then  spurn  the  lowly  ground  with  lilt  of  vic- 
tory's  song — 

For  in  that  border  land  between  the  night  and 
day 

Our  deeds  of  might  are  done  with  lightness  of  a 
kiss. 


[38] 


V 

The  shadows  come  and  go  and  greet  with  fleet- 
ing kiss 

Each  undiscovered  cheek  where  hides  the  rose 
of  love; 

And  they  take  heart  who  fear  the  near,  oncom- 
ing day ; 

And  they  take  heed  who  scent  the  smell  of  lotus 
flowers ! 

O  in  that  twilight  land  between  our  tears  and 
song, 

Our  sweet  imaginings  rest  on  the  breast  of 
youth ! 

VI 

The  weak  forget  they  faint ;  old  age  recalls  but 

youth ; 
And  she  whom  most  we  love  gives  us  her  lips  to 

kiss ; 
Harsh  notes   of  wakening  strife  are   softened 

into  song ; 
While  those  we  think  we  hate  we  know  we  can 

but  love — 
Then  from  green  bower  of  vines,  from  bed  of 

purple  flowers, 
We  rise  regretfully  unto  the  sterner  day. 


[34] 


Betwixt  the  night  and  day,  when   age  recalls 

but  youth, 
Then  all  our  thorns  are  flowers,  our  fondest 

hopes  we  kiss, 
All  hate  is  turned  to  love,  all  tears  are  changed 

to  song. 


[35] 


LUCY  LINGERS  AT  THE  GATE 

Lucy  was  a  slender  maid, 

Of  pretty  form  and  feature; 

Her  hair  hung  down  in  one  long  braid, 

She  was  a  youthful  creature. 

Lucy  lingers  at  the  gate, 

For  whom  does  Lucy  linger? 

For  handsome  swain  to  draw  his  rein 

And  stoop  and  ring  her  finger. 

Lucy  has  bright  stars  for  eyes, 
And  cheeks  the  hue  of  roses ; 
Upon  her  breast  a  wee  thing  lies; 
Its  life  her  love  discloses. 
Lucy  lingers  at  the  gate, 
For  whom  does  Lucy  linger? 
For  father  of  her  mother  love, 
His  ring  upon  her  finger. 

Lucy's  hair  will  be  like  snow, 
Her  voice  be  low  and  tender, 
Her  loneliness  too  frail  for  woe, 
And  God  His  peace  will  send  her. 
Lucy  lingers  at  the  gate, 
For  whom  does  Lucy  linger? 
For  angel  white  to  kiss  good-night 
The  ring  upon  her  finger. 


[36] 


EPITAPH  TO  A  SOLDIER 

And  now  the  rain  beats  down  upon  his  grave; 
The    wild    beasts    snarl    and    sniff    above    the 

mound ; 
Aloft  the  vulture  circles  round  and  round; 
Deep  in  the  bushes  lurks  the  human  knave. 
'Twas  such  a  place  as  this,  and  such  a  land, 
We  laid  him  whom  the  Morn  proclaimed  her 

pride, 
A  soldier  battle-scarred  and  brave  and  grand, 
Who  ere  the  day  had  wheeled  sank  low  and 

died. 

Rest   to   his    soul!     He   wrought   the   best   he 

could, 
And  doing  thus  had  made  him  truly  good. 
Peace  to  his  bones !     He  was  a  peaceful  man, 
Though  every  battle  found  him  in  the  van ; 
In  midst  of  evil,  yet  from  evil  free — 
Let  him  who  reads  pray  thus  he,  too,  may  be. 


[87] 


"SERMONS  IN  STONES" 

Be  not  too  smooth  and  even,  like  to  the  pave 
Where  shoulder  unto  shoulder  together  lie 
The   square   hewn    stone,    each   level   with   his 

brother. 
Across  their  unresisting  surfaces, 
Sleek  as  new-frozen  ice,  the  hurrying  throng 
Rushes,  regardless  where  its  feet  may  stray ; 
Each  soul  intent  upon  its  special  lust. 
See  now  the  cobble,  with  a  spirit  new 
Broke  through  its  meekness,  raise  itself  above 
Its    sleeping    fellows.     No    more    the    way    is 

smooth, 
The'  roadway  clear ;  now  doth  the  crowd  divide 
Respecting  it,  the  erstwhile  humble  stone. 
The  haughty  eye,  upheld  by  stiff-necked  pride, 
Sees  not  the  lowly  form,  and  straightway  falls 
To  ignominious  shame;  the  bloated  glutton, 
Rotund  with  swinish  appetite,  perceives 
Beneath  him  naught,  and  rolls  him  down  the 

dust; 
The  sneaking,  furtive,  death-white  face  of  ill, 
Darting  its  glances  o'er  prospective  prey, 
Ignores  the  stubborn  stone  that  brings  it  down, 
Cursing  and  fuming  evil  from  its  mouth. 
And  yet  the  lowly  and  the  upright  pass 
Unnoticed  by ;  their  senses  are  not  clogged 
By  fierce  desire,  or  pride,  or  appetite; 

[38] 


They  see  the  danger,  and  its  warning  heed; 
They  pass  on  either  side  and  are  not  harmed. 
Thus  art  thou  honored,  when  from  life  of  ease 
And  even-laid  contentment  thou,  a  stone, 
Hardened,  obtuse,  and  dull,  doth  lift  thy  head 
Above  thy  fellows. 


[39] 


THE  LETTER  FROM  HOME 

A  letter  from  home !     Quick  leaps  the  heart, 

And  quivers  as  flames  that  laughing  dart 

From  out  the  camp-fire  burning  high. 

The  human  circle's  argus  eye 

Each  eager  hand  watches  with  care, 

As  from  the  heap  appears  despair 

Or  joy,  as  names  are  hardly  read 

By  the  pale  light  now  nearly  dead. 

More  wood  is  piled  upon  the  fire, 

And  soon  a  new  flame  blazes  higher ; 

Each  happy  man  now  gathers  'round, 

And  kneels  or  sits  upon  the  ground, 

Drinking  with  eyes  made  big  by  night 

The  loving  words  that  greet  his  sight. 

From  mother,  sweetheart,  friend,  and  wife 

Are  thoughts  they  thought;  and  words  of  life 

And  hope  and  love  and  peace  they  send 

To  cheer  the  hearts  that  hardships  rend, 

Who  on  the  morrow  may  be  laid 

Low  in  a  grave  by  foeman  made. 


[40] 


THE  SUBMERGED 

Of  life  I've  lived  the  little  span 
That  Fate  allots  the  average  man, 
But  never  yet  the  mist  of  gray 
That  veils  the  face  of  shining  day 
Has  from  my  eyesight  passed  away. 

Within  the  murky  gloom  I  see 

The  bended  figures  black  there  be, 

Whose  yellow  faces  grin  at  me; 

Upon  their  shoulders  burdens  lie 

That  they  will  carry  till  they  die; 

Great  loads  that  they  might  easily  throw 

If  but  they  willed  to  have  it  so — 

It  seems  they  rather  would  have  woe. 

I  have  lived  long,  but  longer  yet 
My  father  lived  this  life  of  fret, 
And  always  thus  it  was  to  him — 
The  bended  figures,  crouched  and  dim. 


[41] 


THE  SHADOW  CAST  BEFORE 

O  diver,  deep  down  in  the  sea, 
When   comes   no   more   God's   breath   to   thee, 
What  fancies  throng  thy  numbing  mind 
Of  skies  and  sun  and  fields  and  wind? 

O  traveler,  lost  in  desert  drear, 
Whose  sands  shall  be  thy  lonely  bier? 
What  visions  crowd  thy  parching  soul 
Of  waters  cool  and  shady  knoll? 

O  wayfarer,  on  the  road  of  life, 
When  overcome  by  weary  strife, 
What  angels  gather  at  thy  side 
To  tell  of  Christ  the  crucified? 


[42] 


COMPENSATION 

The  measuring-worm  shall  measure  thy  small 

plot; 
A  crooked  tree  shall  in  one  corner  stand 
And  leer  at  thee;  gaunt  birds  shall  shun  thy 

hand; 
A  loneliness  shall  be  thy  endless  lot 
Such,  that  were  all  the  universe  we  wot 
Emptied  of  its  bright  spheres,  and  thou  alone 
Placed  in  their  stead,  it  would  a  multitude  own, 
And  be  crowded  for  thee. 

Here  shalt  thou  live  and  rot, 
For  thou  wast  greedy  of  the  world's  domain ; 
Thy  swift  ambition  maimed  the  stalwart  son ; 
Starvation  stalked  beside  thee ;  armies  vast 
Obeyed  thy  slightest  wish,  till  men  aghast 
Fled  to  oblivion — and  now  the  dance  begun 
By  thee  shall  whirl  forever  through  thy  brain ! 


[43] 


THE  RED  ARTIST 

An  Artist  stepped  out  of  the  gloom 

Into  the  middle  of  my  room; 

Full  tall  was  he  and  clothed  in  red 

From  sole  of  foot  to  crown  of  head; 

His  face  ay  turned  he  away  from  me, 

And  never  his  features  did  I  see ; 

But  I  could  read  upon  his  back 

That  his  face  was  cunning,  sharp  and  black- 

I  read  he  had  a  singular  grace 

That  fit  him  for  a  fitful  place ! 

I  could  not  move;  I  was  as  dead, 

Yea,  riveted  unto  my  bed. 

He  drew  forth  from  his  mantle  red 

A  roll  of  canvas,  which  he  spread 

Upon  the  darkness  of  the  wall, 

And,  like  a  dead  face  in  its  pall, 

It  shined  white  'round  the  Artist  tall ; 

With  swift,  deft  stroke  he  limned  a  face — 

0  Christ !  so  fair  !     And  full  of  grace, 
He  drew  her  form  within  its  place. 
Forever,  ever,  I  can  see 

Those  deep  blue  eyes  look  down  on  me ; 

1  see  her  golden  tresses  fall 
Around  about  the  Artist  tall 
As  with  his  hand  of  master  skill 
He  made  to  laugh  and  cry  at  will 

[44] 


The  dimples  sweet  that  chased  about 

Her  rosy  cheeks  in  revelling  rout ! 

Then  oped  her  ruby  lips  to  smile; 

And  arrows  of  light  shot  down  the  while 

From  stars  that  shone  in  the  eyes  above — 

Aye,  all  of  her  he  named  love. 

Ah,  such  a  face  divine  would  move 

The  ax  and  block  to  swear  her  love; 

The  hangman's  noose  would  shame  to  clasp 

A  throat  so  white  in  strangling  grasp ! 

Next,  like  a  spirit's  mould,  there  grew 

A  wondrous  form  the  Artist  drew: 

Lithe  as  the  bending  willow  tree, 

With  tapering  limbs  and  motion  free. 

Ah,  on  that  breast  could  gods  forget ! 

Within  those  arms  all  joys  were  met. 

'Tis  such  a  face,  'tis  such  a  form, 

That  makes  man  brave  hell's  fiercest  storm; 

'Tis  such  a  form,  'tis  such  a  face, 

That  makes  forsworn  all  duty's  grace. 

The  crimson  Artist,  swift  and  fast, 
Around  her  form  a  spirit  cast; 
Her  arms  she  stretched  forth  unto  me, 
Her  eyes  all  yearning  pleadingly. 
I  burst  the  bonds  that  held  me  wed 
Unto  the  silence  of  my  bed 
And  rushed  headlong  with  joyful  cry — 
Hold!     Hold!     My  eyes  grew  hard  and  dry, 
[45] 


As,  gazing  o'er  the  Artist's  head, 
I  saw  his  swift  strokes  strike  her  dead ! 
With  gasping  breath  I  did  behold 
Her  eyes  grow  cruel  and  steely  cold; 
I  saw  her  yellow  fangs  drop  bane, 
Her  shrunken  lips  leer  at  my  pain; 
I  saw  her  withered  form  rot  down, 
Reeking  with  sores  from  foot  to  crown — 
Yet  was  she  once  the  fairest  born, 
Who  from  my  breast  my  heart  had  torn : 
With  her  it  lies  unto  this  day, 
And  moulds,  and  rots,  and  bleeds  away. 

The  Artist,  still  with  back  towards  me, 
Laughed  then  a  laugh  of  hellish  glee, 
And  all  grew  black — the  town-clock  bell 
Tolled  heavily  as  down  I  fell — 
And  I  was  alone  with  the  break  of  day ; 
Yes,  I  was  alone  with  the  morning  gray. 


[46] 


THE  PORTRAIT 

Pity  the  man  who  sees  but  with  the  eye ; 
Thou  art  to  him  a  painted  fabric  frail; 
But  envy  him  who  can  thy  soul  descry 
Beneath  the  lines  where  art  and  genius  fail: 
He  sees  the  living  light  behind  the  veil; 
He  feels  a  pulsing  heart  within  thy  breast; 
He  hears  within  thy  soul  the  nightingale 
That  sings  to  him  of  thee  from  heavens  blest. 
Love  breathes  the  poet's  passion  through  thy 

veins, 
And  thou  to  glorious  life  enkindled  art. 
Step    forth,    O    Queen!    for   now    thy    beauty 

reigns ; 
Of  God's  great  pulsing  world  thou  art  a  part; 
Thy  former  house  thy  fragrance  still  retains, 
But  thou  now  dwellest  in  a  living  heart. 


[*7J 


THE  THREE  SPIRITS 

Out  on  the  turbulent,  tossing  sea, 
O'er  the  moon-cast  path,  those  spirits  three, 
That  rule  the  world  from  the  throne  of  Him, 
Came  up  from  the  night-heaven's  shadowy  rim. 

Spirit  of  Life !     The  days  are  long, 
Nor  ever  a  flower,  nor  bird  of  song ; 
The  nights  are  dismal  tombs  that  hold 
Stark  food  for  worms,  fond  hopes  of  old. 

Spirit  of  Death!     Who  harks  the  fall 
Of  yon  grand  monarch,  straight  and  tall, 
That  in  the  forest's  vasts  alone 
Thou  hurlest  down,  unsung,  unknown. 

Spirit  of  Love!     Dost  kiss  the  wave 
That  whispers  sweet,  yet  digs  thy  grave? 
Ceaseless  and  endless,  pebble  and  piece, 
The  rock  succumbs ;  the  sands  increase. 

Can    the    soul   flung   out    on    the   kelp-clothed 

strand 
By  the  Spirits  Three  of  the  Unknown  Land 
Be  aught  but  a  senseless  plaything  tossed 
By  the  angry  sea  that  their  moon-path  crossed? 


[48] 


THE  PRAIRIE 

The  Prairie,  O  the  Prairie, 
Where  the  footsteps,  light  and  airy, 
Of  the  wandering  zephyr  fairy 

Trod  so  sprightly  years  ago! 

Where  her  feet,  a  moment  rested, 
Some  wild  flower  the  imprint  crested, 
And  a  fragrance  therein  nested 

That  returns  my  heart  aglow — 
God  hath  made  it  so. 

The  Prairie,  O  the  Prairie, 
In  my  heart  alone  dost  tarry, 
For  the  ways  of  mankind  vary, 

And  our  children  must  have  bread; 
Furled  is  all  thy  spreading  glory, 
With  thy  roses  liv'st  in  story, 
While  these  plotted  fields  of  worry 

They  have  given  us  instead — 
All  thy  grasses  dead. 

The  Prairie,  O  the  Prairie, 
Thy  burrowing  folk  were  wary, 
Thy  winged  folk  ay  contrary 

In  the  golden  days  of  youth; 

I  have  seen  white  armies  sweep  thee, 

The  fiery  sickles  reap  thee, 

The  whirling  wild  winds  leap  thee, 

But  thy  doom  was  not  their  ruth; 
'Twas  feeble  man's,  forsooth. 
[49] 


DAUGHTER  OF  JUDAH 

Daughter  of  Judah,  dark-eyed  and  comely, 
Crowned  with  the  mystery  of  ages  art  thou ; 
Chosen  the  people  of  God  were  thy  fathers, 
Chosen  of  love  their  daughter  is  now. 

Daughter  of  Judah,  gently,  yet  bravely 
Striking  for  freedom  where  error  is  truth; 
Sister  to  those  who  were  daringly  tender, 
Even  as  Judith,  and  even  as  Ruth. 

Daughter  of  Judah,  sweet-lipped  and  loving, 
Mothers  in  Israel  thy  mothers  have  been; 
Fathomless  now  in  thy  soul  lies  the  glory, 
Daughter  of  Judah,  even  as  then. 


[50] 


THE  TAJ  MAHAL 

In  India  lies  a  wondrous  bowl — 

Of  beauty  it  is  called  the  soul — 

Which,  when  the  heavens  cloudless  bend 

And  in  no  horizon  seem  to  end, 

Can  once  be  seen  by  mortal  eye, 

Its  crystal  depths  hewn  from  the  sky. 

'Tis  brimmed  with  waters  clear  and  sweet 

That  silent  sit  at  the  lilies'  feet, 

And  far  below  the  stars  and  moon 

Lie  still  and  pale  as  those  who  swoon. 

Alone  alive  where  all  is  sleep, 

The  fishes  play  and  dance  and  leap 

About  one  draped  in  ghostly  pall, 

The  silvered  shade  of  Taj  Mahal. 

Aye,  who  was  like  to  the  Shah  Jehan, 
The  son  of  the  Caliph,  Wonderful  One  ? 
And  who  so  beautiful  and  blest 
As  the  Noor  Jehan?     God  save  her  rest. 
There  is  no  God  but  God — and  He 
Was  moved  by  a  strangest  jealousy — 
And  He  took  the  one  so  beautiful, 
The  Noor  Jehan,  for  His  true  angel. 


[si] 


As  dead  for  days  lay  the  Shah  Jehan, 
The  Emperor  greatest  beneath  the  sun, 
Then  arose  and  knew;  then  rent  his  clothes, 
Fierce  tore  his  hair;  but  his  pitying  woes 
Again  in  kindest  slumber  wound 
His  riven  heart  with  peace  around. 

The  winter  passed,  and  the  Shah  Jehan 
Was  sleeping  apart  from  the  flaming  sun 
When  a  messenger  came,  all  clad  in  white 
And  crowned  with  a  halo  of  dazzling  light, 
Who  spake  in  accents  soft  and  low: 
"Come  follow  me,  O  son  of  woe !" 

They  passed  to  a  chamber  of  diamonds  set 
In  marvellous  manner  in  marble  of  jet, 
And  there  on  a  couch  as  white  as  the  moon 
Lay  Noor  Jehan  in  wakeless  swoon. 
"Now  kiss  her  lips,  and  thou  shalt  know 
What  are  her  dreams,  O  son  of  woe !" 
The  Shah  Jehan  knelt  down  and  kissed, 
With  passionate  ardor,  the  lips  so  whist ; 
When  lo !  to  his  ear  a  sweet  harp  played, 
And  his  eye  beheld  in  light  arrayed 
The  vision  of  an  angel's  dream 
Such  as  no  mortal  man  may  scheme. 

The  moon  swung  low  in  a  depthless  sky, 
The  air  was  still  as  those  that  die ; 

[52] 


Perfumed  of  the  Arabies,  flowers  in  bloom, 

Arose  in  pride,  like  the  soldier's  plume, 

From  the  edges  calm  of  a  water-way 

That  stretched  from  night  to  half-born  day. 

And  there  at  its  end — no  tongue  of  man 

May  ever  hope  to  tell  its  plan — 

Arose  and  descended  a  temple  grand, 

Where  worship  the  warriors  of  Israfel's  band. 

Conceive,  if  thou  canst,  the  ruby's  rays 
In  stratum  laid  with  the  new  sun's  blaze ; 
The  thundercloud's  blackness  here  and  there 
Mingling  with  snow  from  mountain  lair; 
And  over  it  all,  draped  beautiful, 
The  strange,  white  light  of  the  moon  when  full. 
This  the  Shah  Jehan  saw,  then  reeled  and  fell ; 
But  after  that  day  he  fast  grew  well. 

And  thus  it  was  the  Taj  Mahal, 
The  tomb  of  the  loveliest  of  them  all, 
Was  built  by  the  hand  of  the  Shah  Jehan, 
The  son  of  the  Caliph,  Wonderful  One. 
Oh,  ye  who  may  see  its  silvered  dome 
Arise  from  the  depths  of  the  twilight's  gloam, 
Know  this:  'twas  seen  by  the  Shah  Jehan 
As  he  knelt  and  kissed  his  loved  one ; 
And  when  that  voice  answereth,  Noor !  O  Noor ! 
O  think  then  of  those  who  have  gone  before, 
And  offer  a  prayer  to  Allah  above 
For  the  Shah  Jehan  and  his  beautiful  love. 
[53] 


THE  SEA-DOG  OF  THE  FARALLONES 

I,  on  my  rock  here  all  alone, 

Out  on  the  Farallone, 

Shall  I  cry  to  the  keels  that  pass  this  way, 

That  plow  from  the  birth  to  the  death  of  day, 

For  a  mate  on  the  Farallone? 

The  treacherous,  sinister  waves  bemoan 
My  fate  to  the  Farallone ; 
But  the  gulls  must  ever  wing  over  the  wave, 
Or  they  sink  into  even  a  restless  grave — 
This  black  rock  is  all  my  own. 

A  terrible  tusk  is  the  one  I  own, 
Of  the  terrible  tusks  of  the  Farallone, 
That  rise  in  the  path  of  the  ships  of  the  sea, 
Unmarked  in  the  fog  and  its  mystery ; 
To  all  but  myself  unknown. 

Out  on  the  Farallone, 

Like  God,  I  am  all  alone; 

My  rock  is  my  throne  whence  I  rule  the  deep ; 

The  fish  here  swim  fast,  and  the  seal  never  sleep, 

When  my  cry  to  the  night  is  known. 


[64] 


WHITHER  THE  OLD  FRIENDS 

O  where  are  the  old  friends,  the  old  friends  of 

yore, 
The  friends  who  our  youthful  infirmities  bore; 
The  old  friends,  the  good  friends,  the  trusted 

and  true, 
Whose    worth    in    our    heedlessness    never    we 

knew? 

The  rose  mist  of  morning  has  lifted  and  sped; 
The  hot  glare  of  noon-day  now  measures  our 

tread ; 
The  giants   that  strode  through  the  dew  and 

the  clouds 
Have  wasted  to  pygmies  we  lose  in  the  crowds. 

O  give  me  once  more,  then,  the  brave  hearts 

that  were; 
O  bring  back  the  old  friends  that  memories  stir ; 
For  Night  is  approaching,  the  shadows  grow 

long, 
And  soon  we  must  pass  with  the  home-hurrying 

throng. 


[55] 


THE  ROSE  MYSTERIOUS 

Before  I  was  my  soul  was  not.     I  knew 

Nor  cruel  thorn,  nor  leaf  of  tender  hue ; 

Had    consciousness    of   naught,    nor   bad    nor 

good; 
Nor  claimed  of  God  immortal  brotherhood. 

Like  to  the  rose  is  life.     The  seed  is  sown, 
And   Nature,   with  her   consort,   Time,   makes 

known 
The  tender  sprout,  the  thought  we  call  the  soul. 
When  man  first  opes  his  eyes  on  heaven's  scroll 
What  sees  he  there?     The  babe  not  even  knows 
It  lives,  the  sprout  that  it  shall  be  a  rose. 
How  sweet  oblivious  sleep  to  those  that  grieve, 
Have  burdening  cares,  or  children  that  deceive ; 
Who  toil  bowed  down  to  live  a  noisome  plan 
Not  of  their  will  or  leave.    Shall  then  mere  man 
Sing  praises  loud  because  he's  waked  into 
A  troublous  life?     The  rose,  of  hours  a  few, 
Because  the  tempest  weaves  it  to  and  fro 
And  flings  its  petals  to  the  winds  of  woe? 

So  softly,  one  by  one,  the  petals  unfold, 
And  show  the  world  the  beauty  that  they  hold, 
Till  from  the  formless  bud  escapes  the  soul 
Whose   fragrance   sweet  men's   anthems,   rapt, 
extol. 


[56] 


The  intricate  machinery  of  birth, 

Through  which  from  rest  we  woke  to  restless 

earth, 
Forgotten  is ;  the  frost  of  winter,  too ; 
The  glare  of  summer  sun ;  because  we  knew 
Them  not,  in  fair  dress  cloaked.     But  when  the 

day 
Of    consciousness    arrives,    when    worms    shall 

prey 
Upon  our  untried  hearts,  and  ruthless  hands 
Shall  pluck  us  from  our  place  in  pleasant  lands, 
Then  shall  we  sigh  to  be  as  if  we  had 
Not  been — unborn ;  unknown  of  good  or  bad. 

And  theirs,  the  common  lot  of  everyone : 

To  wake,  to  bloom,  to  wither  in  the  sun; 

Each  ever  seeking  for  forgetfulness 

From  memory's  aches,  existence'  dire  distress. 

Perhaps  a  rose  is  plucked  by  maiden  fair 
And  fondly  kissed ;  or  woven  in  her  hair ; 
Or  bathed  in  tears  and  whispered  of  love's  ill; 
Or  pressed  in  book  to  linger  many  days 
Some  token  of  a  friend's  remembered  ways. 
Again,  perhaps  the  blighting  eastern  wind 
Plucks    out   her    smiles    and   scatters   them   at 

mind; 
Or   parched   and   thin-lipped   drouth   destroys 

with  thirst; 
Or  insect,  like  a  festering  care  accurst, 

[57] 


Gnaws  to  her  heart  and  kills  both  life  and  hope ; 
Or  powerful  forces,  careless  of  her  rights, 
Her     beauty     plucks,     her     innocence     foully 

blights — 
But  weal  or  woe,  good  done  or  evil  made, 
Shall  she  be  blamed  who  ne'er  herself  arrayed? 
Alike,  alone,  to  meet  the  dust  we  go, 
Whate'er  may  be  our  lives,  our  death  is  so. 

The  petal-strewn  path,  where  walk  the  shades 

of  morn, 
Is  carpeted  with  corpses,  while,  new-born, 
Arched  over  it  the  buds  hang  bursting  low, 
Waiting  their  cruel  turn — for  life  is  so. 

What  though  some  few  so  rare  that  they  may 

grace 
The  Halls  of  Heaven,  the  Celestial  Place, 
Cared    for    by    angels,    bedewed    in    Jordan's 

stream, 
Whose  days  are  blessed,  each  night  some  happy 

dream — 
Aye,  even  so,  these  joyful  in  their  lot 
Had  known  no  difference,  if  ne'er  begot, 
Betwixt  their  enviable  state  and  the  torment 
Of  all  their  sleepless  brethren  earthly  bent. 


[58] 


The  senile  plant,  with  senses  still  awake, 
Sees  now  her  petals  frail  their  stem  forsake; 
Sees   round   her   youth   and  beauty,   gay   and 

strong, 
While  she  decays  in  lonely  days  and  long; 
Sees  happiness  go  dancing  round  about 
With  joyous  song  and  loud,  hilarious  shout, 
Recalling  to  her  memory  her  own  youth, 
Which  ne'er  shall  come  again  with  joy  or  ruth. 

0,  let  them  sleep  who  yet  the  light  of  day 
Have  not  discerned,  and  let  the  waking  pay 
Their  debt  to  Nature,  and  return  again 
Into  oblivion,  where  nor  grief  nor  pain 
Can  gnaw  to  them,  and  let  them  there  remain ! 

Great  God!     Thy  inscrutable  ways  we  praise; 
Thou  knowest  best,  O  Ancient  of  the  Days ! 
But  what,  O  Jah !  before  Thee  was,  or  Who  ? 
If  Thou  wert  always  give  us  mind  to  grasp 
The  portent  of  it,  for  we  grope  and  gasp, 
Blind  moles  in  darkness  and  bewilderment, 
Who  know  that  we  exist,  not  what  was  meant. 
Is  there  no  end  to  space?     Is  there  beyond 
A  Something,  endless,  endless,  to  respond? 

Aye,  little  rose,  of  fleeting  hour  and  day, 
To  blossom  thus,  and  then  to  pass  away, 
Distilled  to  poison,  or  to  odors  sweet, 
A  tool  of  hate,  or  lovers'  fond  deceit. 

[59] 


O  soul  of  man !     Pray  that  thou  findest  peace ; 
From  fruitless  questionings  pitiful  surcease; 
That  the  kind  darkness  of  thy  flowerless  state 
Claim  thee  again,  for  aye  oblivion's  mate — 
Oblivion,  and  all  our  questions  known, 
These  two  are  one,  as  God  is  God,  alone. 


[60] 


FAITH 

When  all  the  lights  go  out  and  the  vast  dark, 
Like  a  death-wounded,  black,  ill-omened  bird 
Shall  settle  down  to  never  rise  again ; 
When  the  sweet  silvery  laughter  of  the  young, 
In  merry  cadence  welling  from  fresh  hearts, 
Shall  cease  its  song,  and  the  thin  wind  instead 
Sob  out  the  grief  of  broken-hearted  worlds ; 
When  Chaos  from  his  exile  long  returns 
And  waves  his  crooked  sceptre  as  before 
There  Order  was — O  then,  in  that  fell  hour, 
The  Soul  that  can  perceive  the  Rescuer, 
Can  still  the  light  hold  shining  in  his  heart, 
Is  blessed  indeed. 


[61] 


THE  WOUND 

The  bow  was  drawn 

In  careless  twilight  of  a  thoughtless  day ; 
The  bolt  was  shot  as  you  unwitting  came 
And  passed  that  way. 

The  scar  is  there. 

The  finger  tips  of  love  won't  rub  it  out ; 
Nor  tender  kiss ;  nor  penitential  tears 
Of  archer  lout. 

The  wound  is  healed; 

To  find  it  now  no  boasting  eye  might  brag 
Did  not  your  heart  remember  and  fling  out 
Its  crimson  flag. 


[62] 


HARP  O'  THE  WIND 

His  nimble  fingers   delicate 

With  swift  emotion  intricate, 

The  Harpist,  Tempest,  wields 

Until,  enraptured,  yields 

The  forest  harp  of  thousand,  thousands  strings 

The  melody  that  youth  victorious  sings. 

The  whispering  of  the  lisping  innocent, 
The  laughter  of  its  new  soul's  wonderment, 
Low  as  the  murmur  of  the  wood, 
Rippling  the  river's  placid  mood — 
Such,  when  lithe  branches  dip, 
The  song  is  on  Tempest's  lip. 

Wild  riot  unrestrained! 

Passion's  elements  unchained. 

The  swaying  giants  of  the  forest  twist 

And  bend,  dancing  through  weird  Bacchante 

mist, 
To  snapping  strings'  harsh  thundering — 
As  if  the  World  were  sundering! 

Rose-garlanded,  'midst  pillars  tall, 

The  harp  hangs  mute  on  Heaven's  wall, 

Its  echoes  trembling  far  into  the  dawn 

To    where    comes    Phoebus'    chariot    rumbling 

on — 
Black  Tempest's  jewelled  fingers 
Wave  farewell  where  Night  lingers. 
[63] 


KING  CODRUS 

"My  comrade,  arm  thee  well,  and  bind 
About  thy  limbs  thine  armor  kind ; 
Gird  fast  thy  sword  upon  thy  thigh ; 
The  toughness  of  thy  bullhide  try; 
Against  thy  heart  now  steel  thy  mind. 

"For  Athens'  King  goes  forth  to  die- 
Yet  would  he  fall  with  the  death-dry 
Of  twice-ten  Spartan  heraldry ; 
Go  pitted  on  the  hostile  spear 
That  forms  a  Spartan's  boasted  bier: 
My  comrade,  Athens'  blood  is  dear ! 

"Apollo's  voice  at  Delphi  rang, 
Amid  the  battle's  deafening  clang, 
That  I  or  Athens  free  must  die. 
And  where  is  there  so  fair,  so  rare 
A  queen  as  Athens  anywhere? 

Look  yonder,  comrade,  o'er  the  brow 
Of  yon  tall  mountain  Sparta  now 
Ten  thousand  spears  pours  forth  into 
This  valley  guarded  by  us  two. 

"My  comrade,  now  for  Athens  kill  1 
With  Spartan  blood  thy  helmet  fill 
And  quaff  revenge  ere  they  shall  spill 
Thy  life  upon  their  field  of  ill. 

[6*] 


Ha,  now  they  come !     My  comrade,  ho ! 
"Tis  thus  we  deal  to  Athens'  foe ! 
Let  them  thy  strength  and  valor  know, 
My  comrade,  O  my  comrade,  ho ! 

"Ah,  comrade,  is  it  over  now? 
I  feel  Death's  hand  upon  my  brow ; 
His  chill  breath  whispers  in  mine  ear, 
While  spurting  up  this  Spartan  spear 
My  life  blood  leaps  its  touch  to  clear ! 
Why  answerest  not  ?     My  comrade,  ho  ! 
Art  dead?     My  comrade — blow  for  blow- 
Thus  died  we — men — tell  Athens  so!" 


[65] 


FAME 

O  thou  elusive  charmer  of  my  soull 
Since  first  I  thrust  the  petals  open  part, 
And  bloomed  a  flower  upon  my  mother's  heart, 
Thy  face  through  heaven's  high  inverted  bowl 
Has  held  me  bound  to  win  thy  kiss,  alway ! 
The    Night    but    wept    that    Morning's    hope 

might  dry 
Thy  tears  away;  and  hope's  devouring  eye 
Ne'er  faltered  from  thy  face  while  yet  'twas 

day! 
What  might  I  not  have  been  had  I  but  known 
The  empty  honors  that  surround  thy  throne; 
Had  kindly  clouds  obscured  thy  dazzling  face, 
Behind    whose    smiles    lurks    disappointment's 

sneer ; 
And  I  had  sensed  but  for  a  little  space 
That  love  alone  is  life  upon  this  sphere. 


[06] 


LOVE'S  SERENADE 

(A  Sestina) 

Beneath  this  bower  green,  my  loving  heart, 
With  song  as  soft  as  lute  I  breathe  my  love. 
Some  sing  in  rhymes  that  like  the  storm-winds 

beat; 
Some  glide  with  feet  whose  tread  as  shadows 

fade: 
In  subtler  verse  I  seek  to  hide  the  woe 
That  eats  my  soul  as  worms  devour  yon  rose. 

Thy  damask  cheek  is  redder  than  the  rose; 
Thy  breath  is  scented  sweeter  than  its  heart, 

0  loveliest  one !     Hast  thou  ere  felt  my  woe  ? 
Ah,  let  me  die,  if  by  my  heart's  great  love 
Our  souls  could  leave  all  woe  behind  and  fade 
Into  those  realms  where  no  storm- winds  beat. 

1  hear  my  heart  in  quickening  measure  beat ; 
My   cheeks   glow   red  like  yonder   shame-hued 

rose, 
Then  to  the  marble  of  thy  brow  they  fade — 
As  if  a  wave  of  love  came  from  the  heart! 
There  is  no  room  for  hate  where  all  is  love, 
Where  all  is  bliss  comes  never  any  woe. 


[67] 


Yet  gladly  would  I  suffer  all  that's  woe, 
If  but  I  felt  thy  heart  in  pulses  beat 
With  the  quick  motion  that  is  born  of  love. 
Ah,  there  are  cruel  thorns  upon  this  rose, 
And  there  are  thorns  and  stings  in  love;  its 

heart 
May  wither,  too,  but  mine  shall  never  fade. 

Before  thy  face  the  roseate  dawn  doth  fade; 
Where  far  the  lark  in  rhapsodies  of  woe 
Makes   love   to    Nature,   there   doth    soar   my 

heart 
Till  thy  sweet  frown  doth  pierce  it :   O,  I'll  beat 
This  breast  in  anguish,  and  this  blood-red  rose 
I'll  dye  a  deeper  red,  an'  thou  spurn  my  love ! 

Then  come,  my  heart,  and  dwell  with  me  in  love. 
We'll  bask  in  arbors  green  that  ne'er  shall  fade ; 
Where  grows  the  lily  chaste,  and  amorous  rose, 
Where  all  is  joy  and  peace,  and  naught  is  woe. 
Canst  thou  not  feel,  loved  one,  the  welcoming 

beat 
That  throbs  to  us  from  Nature's  giant  heart? 

O  good,  my  heart!     When  thou  dost  cease  to 

love, 
My  pulses'  beat  shall  sink,  and  j  oy  shall  fade 
To  endless  woe,  and  I  wither  as  the  rose. 


[68] 


HYMN  TO  THE  SOIL 

The  barren  rock  is  clothed  by  thee ; 
The  water  dipped  up  from  the  sea 

By  the  Sun's  glistening  hands 
In  turn  bedecks  thy  homely  hue 
With  colors  rare  as  ever  grew 

In  happiest  of  lands. 

O,  mother  of  the  human  race! 
Bestow  on  us  thy  tender  grace 

That  we  may  reap  and  live ; 
Give  forth  thy  bounty  from  thy  breast 
That  sturdy  sons  may  call  thee  blest 
And  strength  unto  thee  give! 

Not  stripped  by  flood  and  wind,  nor  fool 
With  a  short  breathing  space  to  rule, 

Not  shivering,  bleak  and  bare, 
But  green  and  strong  and  beautiful, 
Thy  lap  with  plenty  brimming  full, 

We  fain  would  see  thee  fair. 

Without  thee  must  we  perish  all; 
Then  shall  we  to  thy  warning  call 

Turn  dulled  ears  and  cold? 
Because  we  know  that  at  the  end 
Thy  love  will  seek  us  out  and  lend 

A  covering  of  thy  mould. 

[69] 


LIFE  IS  BORN  OF  DEATH 

Now  all  his  books  are  shut  and  dusty  gray ; 
His  meagre  light  has  set  in  Life's  bleak  West ; 
The  crucible's  o'ercrusted  with  spent  clay; 
The  spiders  weave  their  webs  about  their  guest ; 
His  thin,  transparent  fingers,  clasped  in  rest, 
No  more  shall  eager  delve  in  mines  of  lore ; 
Forgotten  is  the  purpose  in  his  breast, 
The  sage  enshrined  shall  feel  his  eyes  no  more. 

Beside  him  there,  beside  the  empty  shell, 
Beside  the  pitcher  broken  at  the  well, 
Held  in  the  rigid  hand,  death-chained  and  mute, 
Lies  crushed  the  history  of  a  life  toil-spent ; 
In  mighty  measures  of  his  silenced  lute, 
It  rises  now  his  lasting  monument. 


[70] 


TO  DAME  NATURE 

If  thoughts  as  fine  as  thine  are  I  could  weave 
From  out  the  tangled  meshes  of  my  brain, 
I'd  ask  of  thee  to  give  thy  servant  leave 
To  ease  his  heart  of  its  dead  weight  of  pain, 
To  let  him  sever  the  imprisoning  skein 
And  find  a  newer  end  to  start  again: 
Then  would  I  task  of  this  old,  worn-out  loom 
A  fabric  that  thine  eyes  might  walk  along 
As  if  it  were  a  flowering  field  in  bloom, 
Where  joyous  sings  the  lark,  heav'n's  soul  of 

song. 
The  shuttle  flies  not  swifter  than  the  light 
From  thy  deep  eyes  leaps  through  and  through 

the  woof — 
I  would  I  could  my  love  thus  put  to  proof, 
And  weave  their  sunbeams  in  a  fabric  bright. 


[71] 


THE  FOUR  ANGELS 

The  Four  Angels  shortly  shall  loose  the  Winds 
of  Wrath; 

The  Judge  of  All  is  robed  within  the  Solemn 
Halls ; 

Ho !  Ye  of  dancing  footsteps  along  your  pleas- 
ure's path, 

Be  sure  your  deafness  shall  be  cured  when 
Michael  calls. 

Cowards,    Vandals,    Ingrates,    Bigots,    Selfish 

Sons  of  Men, 
War  ye  now  together,  never  shall  ye  then ; 
Soon   across   the  Rainbow   Bridge  in   shackles 

shall  ye  troop ; 
Haughty,   proud,   and   steely   souls,   so   lately 

shall  ye  stoop. 

Go  to,  ye  weak  and  imbecile  that  glut 
The  gutters  of  the  old  and  crumbling  world — 
The  dead  more  than  the  living  clog  the  rut — 
The  groove  is  rotted  out  along  which  once  it 
whirled. 

O,  where  is  Love   and  Hope   and  Faith,  and 

Mercy  gently  smiling? 
Where  hide  the  beauteous  Sisters,  Truth  and 

Righteousness  ? 
O,   yonder — no,  not  yonder  where  the  Judge 

sits  stern  in  stress, 

[•»] 


But  farther,  farther,  farther,  where  the  chil- 
dren are  beguiling 

All  the  golden  hours  in  romping  with  the  One 
of  Gentleness ! 

O,.  ye  who  steal,  and  ye  who  kill,  and  ye  who 

break  the  trusting  heart, 
Think  ye  this  earth  forever  shall  go  on,  your 

'change  and  mart? 
Fools!     Ye  have  your  little  hour,  short   and 

lovely,  tricked  and  gay, 
And  ye'd   always   dance  and   drink,   think  ye, 

and  ye'd  never  pay? 

Soon  the  vials  shall  be  emptied,  and  the  waters 

shall  turn  blood; 
Remember    then    the    weakness    of    Abaddon's 

brotherhood ; 
Ye  cannot  cry  for  mercy  then,  for  ye've  never 

understood 
Nor  ever  it  was  Evil,  nor  ever  it  was  Good. 


[73] 


THE  GAME  OF  LIFE 


A  soul  came  forth  from  oblivion's  gloom, 
And  it  walked  by  the  banks  of  the  river  of 

Time; 
Ah,  the  world  was  fair  as  the  flowers'  bloom ; 
Oh,    the    waters    and   birds    sang    a    beautiful 

chime. 

II 

Then  out  of  the  waves  of  the  river  arose 

A  figure  all  black  as  the  raven's  wing; 

A    long    feather    drooped    o'er    his    dripping 

clothes, 
And  a  sharp,  cruel  sword  in  his  hand  did  swing. 

Ill 

"Oh,  soul !"  spake  he,  "thou  must  play  with  me 
At  the  game  of  chess  on  Life's  wonderful  board, 
Or  else  shalt  thou  go  where  the  unborn  be, 
Go  mourning  forever  thy  broken  gold-cord !" 

IV 

The  soul  looked  up,  and  over  that  One 

A  sweet  Face  of  Sorrow  'mid  the  shadows  did 

see; 
A  voice  like  the  murmurs  of  rivers  that  run 
Spake  kindly  and  softly :  "I  will  be  with  thee." 

[74] 


V 

And  then  the  Grim  One  from  his  black  mantle 
drew 

The  chess  board  of  Life  where  so  many  have 
played ; 

With  his  shadowy  hand  he  beckoned  unto 

Where  the  lists   of  the  tournament  stood  ar- 
rayed. 

VI 

O,  the  Grim  One  was  king,  and  Pleasure  was 

queen, 
With  Indolence  and  Anger  and  Falsehood  and 

Pride 
And  Avarice  and  Unbelief  the  officers  mean 
Who  guided  the  pawns  of  Doubt  to  Death's 

side. 

VII 

O,  the  Soul  was  king,  and  Religion  was  queen, 
And  the  officers  were  Innocence,  Hope,  Truth, 

and  Love, 
Who  leading  kind  Peace  and  Humility  between, 
All  guided  Prayer's  soldiers  to  heaven  above. 

VIII 

The  soul  is  not  skilled  in  the  terrible  game 
Where  the  wager  is  death  'gainst  immortality. 
The   cock-feather   droops    o'er   the   player   of 

shame ; 
Ay,  a  rigorous  player  is  his  Black  Majesty! 

[TO] 


IX 

O,  the  Vices  are  crowding  the  Virtues  full  sore ; 
The  gleam  of  the  victor  shines  forth  from  the 

eyes 
Of  the  player  of  Death  as  he  reaches  swift  o'er 
And     places     dark     Falsehood     where     Truth 

wounded  lies. 

X 

The  game  is  lost!     By  the  river's  side 

The  gates  of  the  tomb  of  oblivion  lie ; 

The  Grim  One  doth  leer  as  he  opens  full  wide 

The  portals  of  Death  to  the  one  that  must  die. 

XI 

The  sad,  sweet  Face  of  Sorrow  is  there ; 
It  watcheth  the  moves  of  the  Soul  in  the  play — 
O,  if  but  the  Soul  loved  the  Face,  pale  and  fair, 
The  Grim  One,  defeated,  would  vanish  away. 

XII 

The  scene  is  changed !     I  see  where  before 
Smoked  the  sulphurs  of  death  and  the  forked 

lightnings  played, 
A  wreath  of  white  flowers  that  the  low  bushes 

bore 
Upon  the  chess  board  in  their  purity  arrayed. 


[76] 


XIII 

And   the   Grim    One,   defeated,   hath   vanished 

away; 
The  cock-feather  lies  ragged  and  torn  in  the 

dust; 
Sweet   harps   of  pure   gold   the   bright   angels 

play— 
O,  the  victory  o'er  Sin  is  the  joy  of  the  Just. 


[77] 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  MICHAEL 

Dead  tree,  that  standeth  in  the  plain, 
That  never  shall  wear  leaf  again, 
Ere  fell  the  lightning's  flaming  blade 
What  lovers  whispered  'neath  thy  shade? 

Dead  tree,  that  sitteth  there  alone 
Amidst  the  desert's  sand  and  stone, 
Hast  yet  a  haven  in  thy  breast 
Where  the  tired  dove  a  space  may  rest? 

Dead  tree,  that  lieth  prone  and  still, 
Obedient  to  high  Heaven's  will, 
Hast  yet  a  shelter  from  Its  ire 
For  those  who  at  thy  side  expire? 

Dead  tree,  forth  from  thy  mouldering  bole 
Shall  spring  a  green  and  living  soul, 
Whose  roots  strike  deeper  than  life's  loam 
To  waters  of  Eternal  home! 


[78] 


THE  FISH  OF  PARADISE 

Little  fish  of  Paradise ! 
Wondrous  glow  your  big,  round  eyes, 
In  your  watery  firmament, 
In  no  prison-house  up-pent; 
Flashing,  turning;  dashing,  churning; 
In  your  joyous  merriment. 

Little  fish  of  Paradise, 
Looking,  O,  so  quaintly  wise! 
Orange,  red,  and  ocean  blue, 
Every  beauteous  rainbow  hue; 
Lining,  streaming;  shining,  gleaming; 
Heaven  rarely  favored  you. 

Build  your  little  house  of  air! 
Never  was  there  home  more  fair : 
Diamonds,  rubies,  glittering  shine 
From  the  fabled  coral  mine; 
Flashing,  glowing;  dashing,  showing 
All  their  riches  rare  and  fine. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  sea, 
Where  the  mermaid  angels  be, 
In  the  mollusk's  vaulted  dome — 
Carved  by  gentle  sprite  or  gnome — 
Mooning,  cooing;  spooning,  wooing; 
Little  fish  that  heaven  roam! 


[79] 


Little  fish  of  Paradise! 
'Neath  the  languid  eastern  skies : 
Crocus  buds  and  lotus  flowers 
Scent  the  dreaming,  sleepy  hours ; 
Waving,  sighing;  craving,  dying; 
But  reflections  of  your  bowers. 


[80] 


HOMO 

In  the  Council  of  the  Gods, 

Met  together  in  their  Halls  at  the  centre  of  the 

Universe, 
Was  decreed  a  marvelous  thing 
By  affirmative  nods, 
With  no  One  at  odds ; 
And  about  it  now  I  tremble  as  I  sing. 

In  the  caldron  of  the  Suns 

All  the  mixtures  that  inhabit  us,  and  the  earth, 

and  all  about  us, 
Were  thrown  in  and  stirred  by  Angels — 
Since  the  Angels  that  are  fallen  from  grace, 
For  they  knew  beyond  their  place — 
Then,  as  if  from  guns 
Inconceivable  in  power,  was   shot  the  nebula 

into  space, 
Whirling,  cooling,  crackling,  as  it  settled  into 

place. 

^Eons  upon  aeons  since  the  Council  of  the  Gods 

met — 
Are  They  concerned  about  us  yet? — 
Now  we  see  in  our  brief  view 
What  Those  saw  in  Their  mind's  eye 
When  They  blended  our  chemistry ; 
How  our  atoms,  all  askew, 
Would  at  last  resolve  into 
What  our  poor  imperfect  lenses 
Throw  upon  our  halting  senses. 
[81] 


From  the  hot  and  seething,  molten,  burning, 

fiery  liquid, 
Cooling  gradually  through  the  bitter  cold 
Of  the  universal  ether — 
Till  at  last  we  have  grown  old, 
Like  a  casting  in  its  mold, 
Through  each  grade  and  stage  and  age, 
Every  storm  of  stars  and  elemental  rage, 
Every  cataclysm  of  Fate's  fingers  on  Nature's 

zither ; 
Till  at  last  we  behold, 
Or  our  senses  think  we  do, 
What  was  meant  for  me  and  you ; 
Till     eventually      forms     and     animals     have 

evolved 
All  the  ages  earth  revolved — 
What  was  in  God's  mind  when  He  began, 
The  animal  with  a  soul,  known  as  Man. 

But  one  thing  was  not  mixed  in 

The  first  elements  in  the  caldron  of  the  Suns: 

'Twas  an  attribute  of  the  Gods, 

And  impossible  such  odds: 

Thus,  imperfect  was  the  plan 

When  the  things  that  were  evolving  were  ready 
for  the  Man; 

Man  himself  has  called  its  results  Sin — 

A  reasoning  soul  was  too  recent  for  his  de- 
velopment to  revel  in. 

[«] 


So  the  Gods  again  in  Council  met  in  the  Halls 

At  the  centre  of  the  Universe, 

And  They  proclaimed  the  freedom  of  the  thralls 

They  had  formed  out  of  the  chemicals  They 
had  stirred 

In  the  caldrons  of  the  Suns  at  the  beginning  of 
the  Word: 

To  the  highest  type  erect  They  bestowed 

Soul  and  Reason ;  thus  perfected,  Man  stepped 
forth 

From  the  birth-pangs  of  long  epochs ;  thus  en- 
dowed, 

Bridged  the  gap  between  the  Ape 

And  his  little  lower  than  the  Angels  mind  and 
shape. 

Some  far  day,  then,  the  perfect  will  be  abso- 
lute, 

And  of  the  Gods'  imagination  we  will  be  rip- 
ened fruit; 

We  of  perfected  souls  shall  stand  alone, 

Other  things  and  worlds,  the  chips  from  our 
statue, 

Shall  have  fallen,  passed  back,  and  have  gone 

Into  the  caldron  of  the  Suns  : 

Seeing,  we  shall  see  as  we  please  any  face 

In  any  multitude,  in  any  place ; 

Hearing,  we  shall  hear  as  we  will  any  voice 

In  any  concourse,  from  lips  of  any  choice; 

[83] 


Distance  and  Time  shall  be  forgotten, 

When  Infinity's  and  Eternity's  understanding 

is  begotten 
In  the  Beings  that  the  Gods  decreed  should  be 

evolved  from  chaos 
To  replace  the  Angels  who  the  caldrons  stirred, 
Who  rebelled,  in  the  beginning  of  the  Word. 


[84] 


THE  CORN 

When  March  has  swept  the  house  all  clean, 
And  April  washed  the  windows  bright, 
Comes  gentle  May  with  smiling  mien 
And  lifts  me  from  my  cradle  light. 

Then  newly  dressed  in  wide-starched  green 
With  Summer  I  run  hand  in  hand, 
And  all  the  Mothers  o'er  me  lean, 
Caress  and  kiss  me,  bid  me  stand! 

I  sleep  beneath  tall  plumes  of  gold — 
My  tender  skin  is  white  as  milk — 
But  when  the  nights  grow  chill  and  old, 
Good  Autumn  wraps  me  warm  in  silk. 

Then  when  Aurora's  brow  is  cold, 
Her  breath  a  shadow  of  the  snow, 
My  cloak  about  my  breast  I  fold, 
And  home  with  all  my  brothers  go. 

And  there,  with  cloaks  thrown  off,  and  clad 
In  dress  of  yellow,  white,  or  red, 
We  dance,  each  merry  lass  and  lad, 
Till  Famine's  shades  of  night  have  fled. 


[85] 


HOME  SONGS 

How  sweet  are  the  simple  songs ! 
The  songs  of  our  childhood, 
That  drown  in  their  melody 
The  birds  of  the  wildwood. 

Wherever  the  wide  world  through 
We're  aimlessly  roaming, 
Those  strains,  tuned  angelically, 
Arise  from  the  gloaming. 

They  carry  us  back  again 

To  dear,  loving  faces ; 

The  songs  that  our  mother  sang 

Time  never  effaces. 


[86] 


VALHILDA 

Valhilda  of  the  silent  North, 

To  thy  deep  eyes  are  drawn  my  own; 

O  bid  thy  seneschal  step  forth 

And  call  me  to  thy  crystal  throne; 

For  I  would  feast  upon  the  fear 

That  mortals  know  when  thou  art  near. 

Valhilda,  goddess  of  the  calm, 
Aurora's  gold  waves  in  thy  hair; 
The  long  lost  sun  'midst  date  and  palm 
Pines  to  return  thy  smiles  to  share — 
Raise  not  thy  sceptre,  goddess  wan, 
Lest  all  turn  stone  thou  frownest  on. 

Valhilda,  in  thy  bosom  cold, 
There  beats  a  tender  heart  and  true ; 
Who  win  thy  favor  must  be  bold, 
Nor  falter,  lest  their  hours  be  few: 
What  seest  thou  beyond  the  rim 
Of  all  the  still,  still  Northland  dim? 

Valhilda,  bless  these  haunted  men 
That  hunt  a  thing  they  wot  not  of ; 
Nor  draw  thy  mantle  closer  when 
These  seek  to  tell  thee  of  their  love — 
They  saw  earth's  beauty  'fore  thee  pale; 
They  heard  grow  still  the  nightingale. 


[87] 


Valhilda,  round  thee  sobs  the  wind, 
The  banished  children  kneel  and  weep, 
The  ghostly  lands  fill  with  the  blind, 
O,  call  the  sun  from  his  long  sleep! 
Unto  thy  halls  lie  thousand  told 
Adorers  mummied  by  the  cold. 

Valhilda,  art  thou  then  of  stone? 
Thy  smiling  lips  the  f rozen's  dream  ? 
But  this  we  know — we  are  thine  own, 
We  love  thy  most  delusive  beam; 
Valhilda,  of  the  silent  North — 
All  mankind  at  thy  beck  stand  forth. 


[88] 


THE  CROOKED  LITTLE  BOY 

There's  a  crooked  little  house  on  the  corner  of 

the  block, 
And  a  crooked  little  tree  grows  in  the  yard, 
And  a  crooked  little  boy  always  sitting  on  a 

rock 
At  the  bottom  of  the  tree  that's  in  the  yard. 

He  is  gazing  at  a  limb ;  is  it  gazing  back  at  him 
From  the  branches   of  the   tree  that's   in  the 

yard  ? 
Is  it  laughing  at  the  boy  in  the  suit  of  corduroy 
Sitting  on  the  rock  beneath  the  tree  that's  in 

the  yard? 

For  the  crooked  little  boy  never  will  the  joy 

enjoy 
Shinning  up  the  tree  that's  in  the  yard, 
For   he's    crooked   as    can   be   and   the   silver- 

beechen  tree 
Has  not  paler  leaves  upon  it  than  the  face  of 

the  poor  boy  within  the  yard. 

O,  the  crooked  little  tree  and  the  crooked  little 

house 
Are  still  standing  in  the  crooked  little  yard, 
But  the  crooked  little  boy  sits  no  more  with 

broken  toy, 
For    he's    gone    beyond    the    shadows    of    the 

crooked  little  tree  that's  in  the  yard. 
[89] 


THE  FOREST  FIRE 

Trumpet  the  wild  heralds  of  the  wood! 
Bannerless  they  urge  and  forge  ahead; 
They  need  no  colors  to  be  led 
Whom  fear  drives.     These  a  brotherhood 
Of  purpose  have,  as  through  the  night 
They  fly  the  forest  all  alight. 

Now  roaring  giants  fling  afar 
Great  torches  through  the  mist  of  smoke, 
As  if  they  know  beneath  its  cloak 
Their  routed  foes  retreating  are. 

And  who  so  sturdy  to  withstand 

That  fiery  phalanx  marching  swift 

Against  the  forest's  time-tried  band, 

And  Night's  black  legions?     Man  has  no  gift, 

Indemnity,  nor  host,  that  shall  halt 

The  fury  of  these  fearful  ranks, 

When,  maddened  by  the  wind's  assault, 

They  leap  the  river's  shrivelled  banks 

And  sabre  the  protected  there. 

O  Desolation !     Scarred  and  bare 
Thy  blackened  bosom  lies ;  and  Death 
Leans  heavy  against  the  Heaven's  breadth. 


[90] 


Aye,  fiercely  their  mighty  armies  rage, 

With  terror  palsy  all  their  foes, 

And  leave  but  wrack  behind.     Yet  wage 

Vast  forces  mightier  than  those 

A  greater  warfare:  the  soft  rain, 

Gently  persistent  and  unsubdued, 

Comes  steadfast  on,  till,  his  outposts  ta'en, 

His  fierce  flanks  turned,  and  all  his  rude 

And  bloody  soldiery  routed  far, 

The  foe  succumbs  in  blackening  char! 

The  while  the  soft  hands  of  the  rain 

Wash  fair  the  faces  of  the  slain 

And  beckon  the  fleeing  back  again. 


[91] 


FREE  WILL 

The  world  rolls  on  as  yesterday  it  rolled ; 
For  some  meanwhile  the  parting  bell  has  tolled, 
While  some  have  been  cast  down,  and  some  ex- 
tolled; 
Forgotten  some,  immortal  some  enrolled. 

The  sun  shines  clear  as  yesterday  it  shone — 
Upon  a  man  that  perishes  alone, 
Above  a  fearsome  army  overthrown, 
And  a  victorious  legion  haughty  grown. 

There  is  no  change  of  purpose  wrought  with 

Fate  : 
Defeat,  nor  death,  nor  infamy,  nor  state, 
Nor  love,  nor  life,  nor  victory,  nor  hate, 
Shall  the  Almighty's  mandates  abrogate! 

O  we  are  billows  rising  from  the  deep! 

Who  sink  to  lowest  depths,  or  skyward  sweep ; 

Who   rage  a  space;  who  sing  and  laugh  and 

weep — 
Though  the  sea  is  bound,  its  waves  have  leave 

to  leap. 


[92] 


THE  TORCH-BEARERS 

O  little,  trembling,  furtive  band, 
Whose  banner  hangs  in  Midnight's  land, 
Ye  are  descendants  of  the  Night ; 
For  conscience'  sake  ye  fearless  stand — 
Your  sufferings  victor  more  than  might. 

Nor  fire,  nor  sword,  nor  aught  of  blood, 
Are  weapons  of  your  brotherhood; 
The  patience  of  the  saints  ye  wield: 
The  hordes  of  Hate  by  Love  withstood 
Inevitably  the  victory  yield. 

Bowed  down  to  earth  by  pain  and  grief, 
Ye  falter  not  in  your  belief; 
Though  driven  hard  by  Error's  lash, 
Yet  from  your  task  seek  not  relief — 
Your  labors  live  though  kingdoms  crash. 

The  centuries  have  wheeled  and  passed 
In  armies  powerful  and  vast 
Across  scourged  Hellesponts  in  vain, 
If,  from  beneath  their  feet  downcast, 
Your  green  leaves  spring  not  up  again. 

Aye,  though  to  each  devoted  breast 
Shall  Darkness'  spears  be  clasped  to  rest, 
The  breach  is  made,  and  all  that  see, 
O'er  your  dead  bodies,  loved  and  blessed, 
Shall  rush  to  glorious  victory! 
[93] 


SEEKERS  OF  HAPPINESS 


One  thousand,  and  another,  grains  of  sand 
Beneath  a  human  foot,  don't  understand 
The  terror  of  their  multitude  beyond; 
The  mocking  of  the  sickly-looking  sun ; 
The  hopeless  heat  that  struggles  in  its  bond — 
These  learn  some  sweetness  when  their  learn- 
ing's done. 

II 

A  robe  of  gold-embroidered  silk  that's  hung 
Upon  a  rock  'mongst  heaving  billows  flung, 
A  naked  soul  thrown  blind-fold  in  the  spray 
And  given  leave  to  swim  and  clothe  itself, 
Or  tear  the  bandage  that  obscures  the  way 
And  turn  to  shore  and  take  the  easier  pelf. 

Ill 

A  thought  alone  upon  the  city's  street, 
Where    thousands    trample   with    their    leaden 

feet; 
Unsought,  unheard,   grasped  by  the  hand  by 

none, 
Left  standing  by  a  most  unworthy  crowd ; 
In  truth  alone,  a  cloud-bespattered  sun, 
That  comes  and  goes,  and  glistens  in  its  shroud. 


[94] 


IV 

The  houses  and  the  landmarks  I  have  built 

Are  empty  save  the  mockery  of  gilt ; 

The  bulwarks  that  I  reared  to  hide  behind, 

To  lie  in  wait  behind  until  the  face 

That  haunts  the  shadows  melts  away  in  wind, 

Seem  made  of  cobwebs  in  a  shaky  place. 


A  scented  veil  that  floated  in  the  night 

Swept   o'er   my    face   and   staggered   me   with 

fright ; 
I  strove,  I  strive,  to  catch  its  flimsiness, 
But  only  clutch  the  empty  air  instead; 
I  hold  my  heart  and  wait  for  its  caress — 
I  know  it  is,  and  yet  'tis  ever  fled. 

VI 

Beginning,  Time,  and  End — O  feeble  mind! 
You  cannot  grasp  what's  not  by  these  outlined, 
And  yet  you  rear  a  temple  and  despair 
Because  your  children  'midst  its  ruins  cry; 
You  make  a  curse — it  seems  a  breath  of  air — 
Then  curse  again  because  it  will  not  die. 


[95] 


VII 

The  wise  their  spokes  do  make  into  a  wheel ; 
The  fool  makes  fire  with  his  short  warmth  to 

feel; 
The  just  yet  roll  the  wheel  beyond  the  fire — 
The  brave  fear  not  the  fire,  or  wheel,  or  things, 
But  fasten  Chaos  underneath  Desire: 
The  wise   have   birds   they   keep   with   clipped 

wings. 

VIII 

A  heart  I  have  not  met,  a  love  not  known, 

A  peace  I  have  not  felt,  a  little  zone 

That's    bounded   by    my    sweet,    untrammelled 

will, 
A  music  that  I  never  understood, 
A  fruit  and  wine  and  dance  that  never  fill, 
A  choice  to  sleep  or  wake — then  were  Heaven 

good. 

IX 

The  seal  be  broken  and  the  scroll  unrolled, 
The  memory  all  upon  his  fingers  told, 
The  soul  be  clear  and  tranquil  as  the  glass, 
No  fear-benumbed  or  cloud-enveloped  brain, 
The  infinite  grasped  while  finite  mortals  pass — 
Then   Heaven   were   good,   and   other  heavens 
vain. 


[96] 


O  break  a  heart,  and  bring  cement,  and  go ! 
Or  smite  your  mother  on  the  lips  a  blow — 
Then  given  a  rock,  high  waves,  a  brazen  sky, 
To  grovel  on,  to  hear,  to  lift  your  face: 
And  see  if  you  rend  pardon  from  on  high, 
Or  lure  a  hope  unto  your  lonely  place! 

XI 

The  care-free  urchin  with  his  horseshoe  nail 
And  resined  string  makes  window  sashes  wail, 
And  thinks  him  happier  than  the  happiest. 
How  dare  you  cut  a  painting  from  its  frame! 
Or  break  the  statue  o'er  a  hero's  breast ! 
Or  fling  the  manuscript  into  the  flame! 

XII 

Have  you  the  mountains  seen  when  they  appear 
To  rise  from  wavering  mist?     And  when  they 

rear 
A  bold  and  rugged  front  on  fitful  feet? 
They  are  no  less  as  stable  as  of  yore. 
What  if  the  passing  clouds  your  vision  greet? 
They  try  your  faith — and  you  will  trust  the 

more. 


[97] 


xni 

Perhaps  the  heavens  have  unnumbered  forms, 
Uncouth  and  dark,  that  whirl  in  fearful  storms 
In  unseen  orbits  round  our  pitiful  sphere ; 
Perchance  a  dazzling  throng  is  there  with  song : 
What  matters  it?     We  do  not  know  the  fear; 
Unto  our  souls  does  not  the  threne  belong. 

XIV 

A  shackled  wrist  may  drive  the  dagger  home: 
You  give  the  knife,  and  let  the  error  roam — 
And  all  the  hands  that  freedom  ever  clasped 
May  pluck  the  steel  and  staunch  the  hole  in 

vain. 
You're  given  little,  and  you've  littler  grasped, 
With  which  to  leave  your  credit  without  stain. 

XV 

O  fill  your  time,  let  not  a  moment  pass 
Of  which  repentant  you  shall  say,  alas ! 
For  when  the  portals  open  you're  betrayed, 
And  when  they  close  they  open  nevermore: 
And  you  were  gold  you  could  not  friends  per- 
suade 
To  drop  their  ease  and  storm  your  prison  door. 


[98] 


XVI 

There  is  a  watchman  standing  guard  before — 
More  beautiful  than  she  whom  you  adore — 
And  with  his  winning  smile  he  lures  you  in ; 
You  find  his  golden  promises  are  lies ; 
You  turn  again  unto  your  world  of  sin — 
A  skeleton  guards  before  that  Paradise. 

XVII 

And  will  you  lift  your  head  out  of  the  grass 
To  strike  the  foot  that  happens  there  to  pass — 
With  poison  make  a  monster  of  your  God? 
O  have  you  thought  of  your  immortal  soul? 
Where  goes  it  when  it  leaves  this  earthly  clod? 
And  shall  the  wicked  have  eternal  dole? 

XVIII 

The  one-day  infant  that  turns  about  and  dies 
Ere  light  has  known  the  color  of  its  eyes 
Has  then  unsought  of  it  a  life  for  aye? 
Where  is  the  soul  when  consciousness  is  lost 
In  sleep,  or  fainting?     Goes  it  up  to  cry: 
"Begrudge  not  rest  unto  the  tempest-tossed !" 


[99] 


XIX 

And  yet,  when  Time  shall  reach  Eternity, 
When  all  the  dead  are  from  their  prisons  free, 
The  righteous  shall  be  clothed  in  shining  robes 
Of  immortality — then,  only  then? 
The  mind  of  man  forever  probes  and  probes — 
The  worms  shall  eat  it  ere  it  probes  again. 

XX 

Then  are  you  good?     And  would  eternal  rest? 
Your  head   lies   pillowed  upon  your  brother's 

breast 
That  heaves  in  pain — eternally  he's  damned. 
O  let  the  sinner  die,  and  be  you  saint, 
And  live  forever  when  the  door  is  slammed — 
But  let  the  other  end  his  poor  complaint. 

XXI 

Beware  to  scoff!     There  is  a  principle 
That  underlies  the  Empty  and  the  Full. 
Despair  or  Hope  have  never  laid  it  bare. 
The  feverish  heat  of  life  has  blurred  our  sight — 
Below  the  dancing  waves  we  know  'tis  there : 
Come,  drink  your  wine,  the  dawn  is  born  of 
night. 


[100] 


Take  from  the  least  and  give  it  to  the  most, 
Array  the  ant  against  an  army's  host, 
Repent  of  good  and  seek  the  evil  out: 
And  you   may   feel  the  worms   crawl  in  your 

heart, 
Or  you  may  hear  the  heavenly  beings  shout, 
But  know  the  debt  is  there — a  few  years  apart. 

XXIII 

Along  the  streets  are  mansions  where  within 
Whose  empty  halls  in  each  there  might  have 

been 
Two  golden  vases — but  there  is  but  one. 
And  it  is  made  to  hold  a  measure  due — 
Upon  the  walls  a  finger  has  begun : 
"You  fill  the  vase,  the  mansion  is  for  you." 

XXIV 

Ah,  well,  you  have  a  sieve  to  dip  it  up — 
The  streets  are  just  so  long;  so  deep  the  cup; 
A  countless  multitude  to  vie  with  you — 
But  they  have  built  the  city  just  so  great, 
And  for  the  crowds  its  mansions  are  but  few ; 
If  you  can  fill  the  vase  don't  hesitate. 


[101] 


XXV 

O  make  a  fire,  and  with  a  net  of  gold, 
Go  catch  a  fish  and  pity  you  its  cold — 
Go  get  a  guide,  and  catch  a  stumbling  mole, 
And  let  your  pity  lead  it  o'er  the  earth — 
You  don't  return  the  same  amount  you  stole: 
A  man  at  least  has  peace  before  his  birth. 

XXVI 

Eat  quick  your  tongue  ere  that  you  let  it  say 
The  doom  of  some  is  consciousness  alway 
'Midst  various  tortures  for  the  crime  of  life ! 
And  dare  you  make  a  Moloch  of  your  God? 
You  do  not  know  the  purpose  of  your  strife ; 
Or  who  is  straight,  or  crooked,  by  your  rod. 

XXVH 

Break  then  the  bird's  wings,  and  the  antelope's, 
Wall  strength  around,  and  bind  you  man  with 

ropes ; 
Imprison  flesh  with  chance  and  circumstance — 
You  can't  prevent  the  flight  of  memory ; 
You  cannot  break  the  mind's  soul-driven  lance ; 
You  can't  imprison  faith — nor  treachery. 


[102] 


XXVIII 

A  trampling  of  countless  feet ;  a  sullen  roar ; 
The  dust  of  battles  dense  on  every  shore ; 
The  crash  of  matter ;  and  the  shriek  of  pain : 
Within  the  ocean's  bosom  breaks  the  heart 
Of  nations  for  a  little  that  is  vain, 
A  sounding  word,  a  fool  allowed  to  start. 

XXIX 

The   breath   of   graves,   the   smell   of   reeking 

blood, 
The  stench  of  rotting  carcasses  of  mud! 
A  chariot  drawn  by  fiery  horses  flies, 
And  plunges  nowhere  through  the  noisome  mass  ; 
A  man,  exultant,  leaps  aboard  and  dies. 
What  took  he  with  him  when  he  came  to  pass? 

XXX 

Where  Silence  molded  into  mountain  sits 
And  holds  the  key  that  opens  to  the  Pits ; 
Nor  ever  sound  is  heard  but  of  the  air 
That  sluggish  forces  through  the  hard-breath- 
ing nose: 
Sweet  Peace  is  fondled  by  a  mother's  care, 
And  all's  at  rest  that  comes  or  stays  or  goes. 


[103] 


XXXI 

The    unmeasured,    the    unfathomed,    the    un- 
known— 
The  mind  is  crushed  that  wished  to  be  alone : 
Here  Peace  that  passes  understanding  's  found. 
They,  all,  that  tumult  love,  that  quiet  seek, 
Leaping  to  death,  or  grovelling  on  the  ground, 
Have    end    all   one — who   knows    if   bright    or 
bleak? 

XXXII 

A  narrow  cup,  and  eyes  a  laugh  apart, 
To  drink  a  health  and  curse  it  in  the  heart ; 
A  skull  of  blood  and  lipless  mouths  thereto, 
A  soul  of  crawling  worms  to  voice  a  toast ; 
So  drink  the  health  again,  and  curse  anew: 
For  you  are  seated  with  a  thirsty  ghost. 

XXXIII 

A  cool,  sweet  hand  upon  your  fevered  brow, 
A  soft,  low  voice  that  whispers  to  you,  "Now." 
O  it  were  happiness  to  be  thus  sick! 
To  hear  the  sleepy  murmurs  Nature  makes, 
To  scent  the  flowers,  to  hear  the  insects  click — 
Then  pray  for  health  that  from  such  ill  awakes  ? 


[104] 


XXXIV 

O  press  this  quivering  beauty  to  your  breast ! 
For  Night's  content,  and  Morning  brings  un- 
rest. 
A  cooper  makes  a  cask  for  each  of  you, 
And  you're  not  happy  till  you  fill  it  up ; 
Don't  bore  a  hole  to  let  the  water  through, 
The  wine  will  go  the  same,  nor  leave  a  sup. 

XXXV 

You  stand  and  dig  your  heels  into  the  shale, 
Before  the  still  and  endless  sea  you  quail, 
Suppose  you  see  a  ripple  strike  the  shore 
And  break  in  foam  the  snaky,  twisting  brine — 
You  do  not  know  there  fell  a  meteor, 
You  did  not  see  the  ship  below  the  line. 

XXXVI 

You  know  as  much  of  any  other  plan 

That  has  been  made  to  run  these  things  and 

man; 
You  always  see  the  cause  of  some  effect, 
And  from  this  tail-end  you  must  figure  out, 
And  all  your  pretty  schemes  of  life  erect, 
And  seek  your  pleasure,  and  the  final  route. 


[105] 


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